Cigarette Juice Box
by Ochiba-san
Summary: Complete Although Schwarz failed in their attempt at immortality, another possible solution is discovered to quench their thirst.Cigerette Juice Box is a term coined by the artist GlassShard.
1. Of Angels and Demons

Cigarette Juice Box

Chapter 1: Of Angels and Demons

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß

WARNING! This fanfic has many pairings and some chapters may contain explicit scenes. Mainly Chapter one and Chapter five, but I have provided warnings for these chapters.

Chapter one contains a lot of rape, angst and violence.

* * *

_Alright Omi... Suck it up. You got yourself into this and no one's going to help you out of it._ Cerulean eyes focused, one by one on the men surrounding him. Each one he'd seen many times and knew each well. Each one of them twisted and brushed from society without a second thought by those who labeled them 'freaks'. It wasn't the first appearance that they had made that had cast this impression on him. Each of them looked normal, to all purposes, and each showed perfect ability to mimic normal activity just like Omi himself had learned to do. It was their long-term actions against the human race. Each was enabled with extraordinary powers which could have been used to help the world. However, it seemed that all any of them truly wanted to do was put the world in the same agony that the world had forced on them. The blonde boy glanced to each one, slowly working around the circle. There was Brad, a tall American with the gift of foresight. His short-cropped black hair and square glasses gave him the appearance of a hard-working businessman. He stood almost a head above the rest of them, but Omi looked him straight in the light brown eyes as he dangled a few feet above the ground with limited access to his limbs. A short boy, about a year younger than Omi himself, was the cause of the constriction. Nagi had the traditional look of many Asians. He was short and small-boned with glossy, dark hair, however his eyes always stared silently, reflecting a solemn, cool bitterness that struck a nerve in Omi. His own image in those eyes shook him at times, but now the steel gaze was locked on him from a distance, keeping him from the full shock of it. The young boy was standing apart from the group, eyelids lowered so that the deep blue shone through by only a sliver, hair shifting against his pale face in chocolate locks as though ruffled by the wind. The air itself was calm, but the tingling aura holding Omi in place was proof enough of the boy's near-unlimited telekinesis.

Then there was Schuldich, a red-haired German with a biting temper. His cat-like jade eyes gleamed in the darkness, reflecting against the silver light of the snow at his feet. He stood with his arms dangling at his sides, long and gracefully lazy, showing the very image of a tomcat in that stance with one hip thrust outward and his shoulders rolled back as the personification of confidence. With heavy probes pressing deep into his brain, Omi could never forget his presence. The mind-reader had taken his power to such a severe extent that at times he almost seemed overcome by it. Omi had seen it happen once or twice. Those piercing eyes would fog over and it would feel as though Schuldich would mentally stumble. However, now there was no trace of instability. He stared with a wide grin set into his face, allowing the tickling probes to search for any thought that would give Omi's intentions away. The boy knew that if any move were to be made, a silent command would be given to the last of the group to lay deep into Omi's skin with cold metal. Farfarello was always stuffed full of knives and needles to exact his orders, or revenge, in the most painful ways possible. He was the silent type, not saying anything unless it was to his hated Kami. Now he stood in the snow with his arms bare, save the linen wraps covering his many gashes, holding a single dagger and no obvious expression, save the permanent pout placed on full lips. A single golden eye shone against his pale skin and from under hair almost as white as the powder falling heavily from the sky. The relation caused Omi to shiver heavier, still.

_No darts, no knives, left the crossbow behind, too... shit_. He was completely aware of the thoughts running through his head, leading directly to the jade eyes boring into him, body and soul. Omi knew that a single malformed word could be his downfall, but death now was nearly inevitable. He hung limp and stared past thin layers of glass into chestnut orbs that only reflected his own gaze back to him. The blonde boy grit his teeth, unable to find any action to take. He ran his nimble tongue along his cheeks to be doubly sure that he'd left all forms of protection behind and nearly cursed out loud. One seventeen year-old boy against four nearly invincible men… there really was no hope of escape.

The clouds above him hung thick, blocking the moon's light. Burdening snow bit at his bare cheeks, making them bright pink and his scarf hung nearly undone around his neck doing nothing whatsoever to block the bitter cold. If only Yohji had come along, but Omi hadn't woken him for fear that he'd be upset. His second thought was of Ken, sleeping soundly in his bed and Aya at the cafe with Aya-chan. He bit his lip. All of Weiß was safe at home, sleeping or eating a late meal with family...

Save Omi.

Omi who had left hoping to take a late jog to tire him of the energy still pumping through his veins. Little did he know that he'd find Schwarz waiting for him just as he passed the park. Now he dangled above the cement and rocks with little to no hope of escape. Each breath came shallow, escaping as a white puff, soundless and warm in the winter air. He parted his lips to speak, smooth tenor voice barely a whisper. "Weiß will come for me."

"Weiß will _not_ come," Brad corrected, Schuldich's nasal baritone imprinting it into his brain with the doubtless knowledge that it would be a prophesy that would not be left unrealized. Omi could feel the surety echoing from all sides of Schwarz, but no matter how hopeless the situation seemed, he could not allow himself to lose hope. Hope was the only thing he had left. He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, only to find the slit jade eyes staring cockily back at him through his eyelids. How he wanted to wipe the smirk from those lips...

/So do it./ Mocking baritone chortled. Even with closed eyes, Omi could see –no, feel-- him smile. Excitement was welling up into those jade irises as the boy strained against Nagi's forces in hopes of weakening them. His body remained limp, despite him calling on his rapidly dwindling will to tear himself free. Schuldich gave another laugh, the sound sending a wave of distaste over Omi's spine. /You can't, can you? Poor boy... poor kitten.../

Cerulean eyes reopened, now staring deep into the same jade orbs where Crawford's own had been before. He parted his lips, weakly demanding, "What do you want with me? Estet thinks you're dead. Everyone does... so you don't have orders to do this." Omi paused a moment to glance to the American now to his left. "So why?"

Cold, ghostly hands gripped his face, forcing him to turn his cerulean gaze back to the German who merely smiled and waved his finger. "Tisk tisk. It's rude to not look at someone when you're talking." He pet the boy once, lovingly and then adjusted his bandanna. "Weiß is the reason that we are suffering this pointless existence. Had it not been for all of you we would have been immortal now. Though the cost for immortality was too ironically high. So we found another way to get what we want without dying in the process." He nodded to the silent boy standing outside the circle.

Nagi didn't step forward, but he continued in that bitter, whispering voice. "You took away the last thing that kept us happy. It was the last string to our reasoning. We had no purpose until we found something by chance."

Farfarello approached. He was usually a man of few words, but when he spoke it was well thought through and nearly perfectly phrased. He ran square-fingered hands through Omi's blonde locks. He was such a beautiful creature, this Kitten of Schuldich's, almost perfect in its simplicity; a cherubim forever smiling with those immaculate lips. The white-haired man pet him for a long while, looking into cerulean eyes before coming to the conclusion that this beautiful piece of art had to be tarnished by them, and Kami could only mourn for its loss. He didn't smile (as he was tempted to at times), but instead pulled back to speak. " 'Each shall drink o' the shell o' immortality' 't said, 'ahn' personify their souls within 't.'"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brad give Schuldich a solemn nod. The German pulled the boy into his warm arms, holding him in a caring way, an illusion of an apology. He buried his face in golden hair, inhaling the sweet fragrance of shampoo. Omi couldn't fight against Nagi's walls alone, much less as Schuldich's strong embrace as well, so he stood, confused in the man's arms and lingered in the fragrance of fading cologne and musk, hovering as a marker of the man's identity. It was pleasant, almost intoxicating to Omi, but what was more was the breath in his hair and the whisper sending pleasurable chills down his spine. "Kitten," he said as he caressed the boy's back and soft hair, "You're perfect, you know. In every way you're perfect. You live your life to the fullest without reservation. You, the one who will always be a child." He paused, deciding to say no more on the topic. "You're going to pay for your sins." Omi was confused for a moment, not quite sure what he meant by all of this. "You're going to pay for your sins and Weiß's with your body..." Schuldich ran an experienced finger up his spine to the delicate white throat where the finger resided, resting on the vein pumping with adrenaline, "and your blood." Omi remained confused, leaning into Schuldich's embrace. Then he felt his own hands picking lightly at the button on his jeans.

Omi gasped and his body fought to jerk away. Still the fingers plucked numbly at the metal. "No..." He whispered, barely grasping the situation. The zipper clicked down the track and he raised his voice. "No, please! What did I do? Don't do this, please!" He felt his hands slide beneath the waistline of his pants and pull them down around the ankles. It must have been a sight, watching a flushed, freezing boy scream for help while his hands worked diligently to free himself of his clothes. Omi was already dizzy, stress catching up to him in own great swoop. He stepped out of his jeans and pulled off the converse shoes as well as his long socks. Slowly, it seemed. Everything was taking so long and all Omi could think as he screamed out at them was how he wished that he'd not been so foolish, wished and prayed that someone would find him here, naked in the snow but the frozen jungle gym and chase Schwarz off, but he knew very well that foolishness had brought him to his almost certain demise.

Farfarello was closest now and he drew close, knife in hand. It glittered in the dim white light that seemed to emanate from the crumpled snow beneath his feet. The thick jacket and shirt would take far too long to get off of his body, the Irishman had decided. He pulled the young boy to him face first and drew the knife hard against his back to slice through the coat and shirt beneath. Still, it seemed, the layers had not been thick enough to block the blade from skin and Omi's throat opened, tearing a scream out of him and throwing it into the hair as a high-pitched plea. Meanwhile Farfarello violently fought to pull off the coat and blood- drenched wool shirt. He screamed and pulled at the aura moving his body to help peel the clothing from his skin with no response but to be kicked to the ground clad in nothing but the striped blue scarf hanging limp around his pale neck.

The snow stuck cold and wet to his bare body, causing the heavy bouts of shivering to intensify. His teeth chattered together violently, his bones replying in an echoing clatter from beneath the cover of skin and muscle. He felt himself pulled off the ground to sit between the warm legs of a stranger. Omi clung to the long hands and pressed against the warmth without thought. Apparently when such things were involved, Nagi had no complaint to Omi's movement. The blonde boy turned to face the man and buried his face in his jacket. He shushed him, petting snow-darkened blonde hair gently with a smile gracing onto his lips. "Hush..." he whispered, "It doesn't have to hurt with me, Kitten..." Cerulean eyes shot up to meet cold, cat-like jade and he shook his head, suddenly terrified and sickened.

Again his body acted without question and pulled itself forward to follow the implied command. Omi made to scream in protest, but his mouth merely hung open silently. _Oh Kami... not now... don't do this to me now. Don't leave me like this_... He clamped his mouth shut as his hands busied themselves with unbuttoning Schuldich's pants. Since the jeans were tight, the button pulled free with ease and Omi was surprised to find that Schuldich wasn't wearing any undergarments. /of course not, Kitten/ Schuldich replied with a mental chuckle/It would have slowed down the process./ To this Omi sent the older man the prominent feeling of disgust, but then something touched his tongue. Omi wanted so bad to pull back and scream for help, but his body reacted differently, the deliberate movements of his tongue and throat as his head bobbed up and down was, much to Omi's chagrin, driving his body to react positively. Again, Schuldich laughed, this time distantly as he was openly concentrating on the blonde's ministrations. /That's not how it looks like you feel.../ Then the voice was gone, replaced by his own moans as he drew in a sudden breath.

_That's not me... I'm not doing any of this_... Omi began to try to convince himself. He could feel his tongue run along the length and swallow in time to create a certain rhythm and it disgusted him that, had this been another situation, he'd be enjoying it. He felt as though he were going insane, absolutely crazed. The world had turned upside-down and Omi was in the middle of it, incapable of controlling even his own reactions. Suddenly he felt the length thrust back, almost gagging him as it did so and his hands immediately went to Schuldich's hips to hold them firmly on the ground. Schuldich was hot, throbbing beneath Omi's tongue as he lapped up the small amount of liquid oozing from the tip. Still Schuldich pushed up on him and soon he could feel urging hands push against the back of his head, long, sculpted fingers weaved through blonde locks. Schuldich pushed both down and up at the same moment, fighting to get closer to the boy kneeling on his elbows before him and Omi's teeth ran along over sensitive skin.

A separate heat had approached, trained fingers brushing lightly at the peach fuzz along his buttocks. He attempted to push it out of his mind, but they became more insistent as they circled just beside the crevice and between his legs where they twirled past each other and began back up to stroke the soft skin once more. Each stroke sent the image of bared skin directly to his mind and Omi couldn't help but feel his body sensitize itself so that he could even feel the light breeze brush against the coarse, dark hair and on his cold back. Now warmth was pressing into him, but his actions continued just the same, though Omi could feel himself harden slightly even against his screaming urges and curses. It had to be Crawford, his wide hips almost doubling Omi's own. It couldn't possibly be Farfarello by the gentile touches and caresses and Nagi couldn't mirror the size. Brad pressed into him harder, more insistently and Omi realized that the skin was bare beneath his touch.

His attention was brought back suddenly to Schuldich as he drew dangerously close to climax. He was hot, almost searing now as he pushed, desperate to feel something harder and fuller. Omi's body leaned in, swallowing the entire length of him now and it nearly gagged him, but something forced the urge back. Still he continued running his tongue along it, occasionally scraping his teeth against the skin and contracting the muscles in his throat in an experienced fashion. Schuldich now pushed into his mind, sending image after image of what Omi had been doing. His flushed, cold cheeks pressing lightly against the flesh of the German's legs and cerulean eyes almost screaming as they sobbed onto the freezing snow. Then, as his walls further deteriorated there was a flood of feeling, the flesh against him and the tongue massaging the hard appendage with such practice that Omi felt his stomach tighten further, the wind brushing against more of his unwanted erection each second. Then there came the tumble of thoughts, pouring out in a frantic, unorganized manner. None coherent, just urging, begging for more, begging and pleading to feel the precious release and Omi knew that it drew near even as he fought to pull away.

He jumped suddenly, pain tearing through his thighs and lower back in electric blue shocks and Omi screamed, despite the thickening walls surrounding him from his it. He howled and cried harder, feeling the flesh tear and pour out hot liquid. Crawford pulled back and tore in suddenly again, pounding hard at something within him, but now prepared, cold hands tightened on his throat to cut off the wail. It hurt, more than anything had in the world. It hurt more than when he had been poisoned, more than when he'd nearly been crushed by Nagi's tremendous power, more than when he'd laid dying in the junkyard. Brad was huge, roughly twice the size of Omi in height and width, but this exaggerated obvious reality. He could feel his hips pushed out to accommodate the intrusion and felt as though they would crack and they moaned in warning at him, thoroughly muffled by his screaming muscles. Still his head bobbed in rhythm, but Schuldich had fallen back into the former state of lesser pleasure. Omi could feel his fingers claw into Schuldich's hips as the hot liquid poured down his legs onto the snow. The boy glanced with foggy eyes between his arms to see the scarlet blood pooling between his knees. And again he jolted forward, gaze torn away as he was filled with the same indescribable agony.

Crawford pounded harder and harder as time continued, forcing himself in fully as Omi's blood to streamed in gushes onto the snow, melting it into crimson pools. His hard hands pulled against him, forcing him backwards all the way until he hit the man's hips. He pulled faster and more insistent, thus speeding up the rhythm of his mouth. He was jostled back and forth, each time faster than the first and soon Schuldich's hands pushed against his head with fingers entwined in golden hair. He thus skipped a beat with Brad, the pounding falling off just enough to invigorate the man further.

Omi felt as though he was suffocating, pressed on both on front and behind with Schuldich's walls breaking down once more. The boy braced himself, tongue twirling on the head before swallowing it once more. Everything came flooding into his head much faster than before, the sight of himself writing on the ground, flushed and bleeding becoming more and more erotic each moment as he sweat with effort and concentration. The welts on his back threatened to break and bleed once more as he saw himself arch his back and beat into the man behind him. He looked up at Schuldich with tear-filled blue eyes and the man fell, gushing hot, delicious elixir into Omi's mouth, which his tongue lapped up without hesitation and his parched throat welcomed. His head continued to bob as he watched the German arch up with a gasp and pulled his arms out to support himself. His chest rose and fell so heavily it could be clearly seen beneath his double-breasted jacket. Finally he fell limp in the snow and Omi's jolting, grievous body worked to button and zip Schuldich's pants.

The German pulled away, leaning on a tree to regain his composure and walls and Omi fell face-first into the cold, sticky snow. It clung to his face and to his bright red hands as Brad pushed harder and further into him. Each thrust drew out an uncontrolled scream as it became more painful with the throbbing of his length growing. Omi clenched his fists in the snow, trying to keep from screaming. His pelvis would crack before too long and Omi would surely die beneath Farfarello. He sobbed heavily into the snow, biting his bleeding, chapped lips. It was becoming harder to contain himself, but his body was slipping into its own control. Either way, he couldn't move and he couldn't fight with the pain trailing up his back and leaving electric blue and red splotches before his eyes.

He bled freely, dripping onto the ground now bare of snow. Inside he knew that he was raw, bruised at least with far too little room to fit the American. Still the man forced himself completely in, drawing the pleasure higher and higher each second. Then there was warmth in front of him and he cringed. Omi had learned to be afraid of such things, but this time he was gently lifted and placed onto folded legs. Omi blinked back tears and gripped hard onto the woollen slacks. Nagi ran comforting fingers through his tangled, wet hair. He brushed away the snow and cum without hesitation. Omi was grateful for his presence and pulled in as much warmth into himself as possible, all the while biting back the horrendous pain shaking his body. He soaked Nagi's slacks with tears and pulled at the hems with orchid fingers, slowly turning purple in the bitter chill. Still Nagi stroked him, soothing and easing as much of the torment as possible.

Furiously Brad pressed into him, gasping for air and Omi knew that the agony would soon be over. He eased up as he felt the new warmth pour into him with the expectations of Brad's retreat, but it continued pouring, filling him over to spread with the blood on the ground, and Brad kept thrusting harder than before until he tore heavily at Omi's insides and he felt himself audibly creak to break under the tremendous force. Finally he slowed, eased up and pulled away, staggering and Omi was more than thankful. Still, he fell down into his own blood if only to breathe freely. No one made a move to approach as Nagi continued to stroke the boy's hair and touch his brow occasionally.

Nagi leaned in, whispering lightly into his ear, almost too timid to hear above the pounding of blood surging into Omi's ears and out just as quickly. "We can rest for now... I'm tired, too..." Then he pulled back up only to run hands as small as Omi's own down his back to wipe away the scarlet blood. /He's in your head, Kitten./ Schuldich explained at Omi's confusion. /He's got to be with what we've got to do. We can't have you dying on us.../ Omi shuddered and clung to Nagi's thighs. /Besides, you've still got Farfarello to deal with./

_Farfarello_...Omi thought to himself, fogged, sapphire eyes opening just enough to see the Irishman waiting not far off, single golden eye gleaming with anxiety. He remained with the same passive expression, save that wild orb. Omi shook his head suddenly and cried harder against Nagi's lap. The boy pet him, shushed him lightly before Schuldich caught his eye and forced him to stop, only able to caress him to silence. Once he had calmed enough, Omi closed his eyes, feigning sleep in hopes of keeping the Irishman from forcing himself into him one way or the other. Schuldich cooed to him/It seems like Farfarello's almost ready, Kitten You'd better wake up and take his orders./

Nagi helped him up to his knees and whispered once more into his ear, "I can do it for you if you want me to, but I don't know how long I can keep you going." Omi could see the pain in those slate eyes as well and he knew that he'd been with him the entire time through Schuldich. For a moment he hesitated, not wanting to brave anything alone, but not wanting to put anyone else through pain when they had tried to help him as much as possible. He uncertainly shook his head and Nagi nodded, standing to watch Omi off.

Omi fell to his numb hands and knees and reluctantly started towards Farfarello. The cold snow fell heavily on his back, chilling it as it touched. It seemed to freeze the blood to his back immediately on contact. He slugged through the thick sheet covering through ground. Each crawling inch he bore the substance past his wrists, stinging the unfeeling ligaments as they creaked against each other. He had a great fear for the expressionless man waiting at the end of his trek. Farfarello's pale skin had been left untinged by the snow, gleaming and free of the goose flesh permanently staining Omi's own skin. He seemed so completely oblivious of his surroundings, not touched by any force save his own. Then Omi found himself completely in front of him, having reached the end of his long journey. He shook heavily now with fear, almost as hard as he'd been shivering from the cold now numbing his body. Omi swallowed and reached forward with orchid fingers, pulling inexperienced at the metal button.

He had gotten it free and pulled nervously at the zipper when a hard, square fingered hand grasped the roots of his hair, pulling him completely off the ground to stare, transfixed at the single molten gold orb. Omi dangled helplessly, almost unable to move from certain pain covering his entire body so he clenched his teeth, only to hear the Irishman speak, unfamiliar accent lilting on his lazy tongue. "With yer teeth." He hoisted the boy higher and flung him heavily onto the ground with his face deep in the no longer pristine snow.

"Maybe we should have gotten the Playboy." Schuldich said to Brad, but there was a grunt and the German let it go. _Yohji_... With thin, trembling arms Omi pulled himself up, thus drawing a bit of an appreciative purr from Schuldich a few feet off. _I'll do this because... because you shouldn't have to_... Again he found himself moving forward on his hands and knees, _Not after everything that you've been through_... He stumbled, but then he was in front of the man again and so pulled himself from his hands and cast a glance to Nagi who merely stared back blankly at him, that aura having stilled to leave him as nothing more than a silent doll, glass eyes relentlessly staring out to the world without any sign of recognition. Omi slowly returned his gaze to the job at hand and Omi gripped the hems of Farfarello's jeans. _Me? I deserve this_.

The button and zipper had both been replaced, it seemed, when he had been finding his way back on hands and knees. Now Omi worked with all his might to undo it again with a nimble, but tired, tongue. The metal clicked against his teeth, sending copper sparks through his jaw to jumpstart his lethargic brain, but still he kept on until finally the button slipped from its hole and lay open to reveal another inch of a scar continuing from the Irishman's stomach. Omi lipped the zipper tab into place between his teeth and pulled gently down so as not to catch himself on it, much less Farfarello. Though, Omi wondered distantly against the omnipresent screaming of his mind, if the man wouldn't enjoy it. Once zipper had been drawn all the way down, Omi pulled down a bit on the line of the jeans to loosen them. /Kitten/ that mental voice called in what would seem to be a whisper/Go a bit further else he'll have you pull the damned thing out with your tongue./ The boy almost shuddered, but did as he was told and inched the fabric down until it mostly revealed the limb.

He swallowed nervously, suddenly wishing that Nagi were helping him with this. "Kami, don't leave me now..." he whispered in litany, tongue about to touch the pale skin. He stopped, feeling the harsh fingers gripping his scalp once more, only now the vicious, square nails dug in ruthlessly. Omi opened his mouth to draw in a silent gasp and was immediately torn away form the jeans to which he desperately clung. Again he dangled from the ground, eyes clenched shut in pain. He could feel the angry breath blow on his face as Farfarello's heart rate quickened.

He leaned in, closer now until his scarred lips nearly touched the crumpled angel's face. He remained perfect, despite the wounds lining his spine, and praying to Kami would heighten his chances of survival. Kami loved his children, but Farfarello wasn't about to let this one go… no… not this perfect angel. So to face Kami, he would become a god, himself, one way or another. It would be his choices and actions alone that would define the flourish or defeat of this creature. It would be his actions that would turn child to adult without regards, just as Kami's own would. But it didn't seem as though this boy's beloved Kami was listening to his pleas… and it would be his angel that would suffer due to his negligence. Schwarz would be this angel's god. No one else. "Kami..." He laughed in fury, snowy brows furrowed heavily over a single golden eye and eye patch across from it. "'E 'asn't come fer ye... just as e's never come fer me..." He gave a feral growl and threw the boy to the ground, ignoring the warning calls from the rest of the company.

There was no hesitation. Once Omi had hit the ground, he'd been pulled up only a bit and had Farfarello push savagely into him, beating at the breaking skin and muscle within him. He let out a scream, much louder and much more hoarse than before. Omi felt Farfarello inside of him, the hatred in his harshness pushed against him, letting him know the extent of Farfarello's jealousy and fury… his fury towards someone like Omi: someone who had seemed innocent but withheld its faith through and through, and Farfarello was killing it. Killing him. Every stab ripped another scream until he could only open his mouth and give out air. His voice had left but still the pain continued. It burned hot and bitter cold in contradiction, tearing at his back with heavy fingernails and biting at his sides with small needles. Omi jolted forward into the snow and still the Irishman continued. Tunnel vision had ensued, drawing him in deeper and deeper as the pain heightened with Farfarello's hate and pleasure. He reached back with weak arms and dug his nails into what skin he could find in hopes of drawing the man away, but still he kept on, but now with creaking laughter. Omi's heart was sinking and burning in the heat of anger filling him, but he could still feel the cold piercing his skin along with those needles and nails dragging along his back, all the while pulling up skin and drawing deep welts of blood. He could feel the wounds reopen and draw deeper within until all the pain had taken over his entire shaking form.

He dug with dirty fingernails into the hard ground and bit his bleeding lips, unable to feel them any more than the rest of his body. White spots filled what was left of his vision and he rose up to buck the man off in a final, weak attempt to escape but only succeeded in pushing himself up to the sheath. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open as he allowed himself to fall to the ground with a few sloppily strung together thoughts. _If this is the price I pay for living happily... forgive me_. The heat beating within him was almost unbearable and as bitter as the cold. It was thick and pushing at the limits of his body, but once it was over he could still only feel the pain and his vision completely blacked out. Omi only heard the final sentence as Farfarello gazed into unseeing, glass eyes. "Fukin' angel. Kami was never watchin' ye..."

For a while he felt himself carried by warm arms and he knew that his body could only hang limp to bask in it. He had no control over his body now, not because of ghostly hands, but because of the lingering lethargy sinking into his bones. He could distantly feel the bobbing as his holder walked as well as the brush of warm lips against his brow. Then the illusion was gone and he lay on the ground once more, naked and unable to shiver any longer. The body almost missed the ringing of the doorbell on the other side of the wall, but when the door opened, he most certainly heard it.

* * *

There were hot hands on his bare shoulders, scorching his skin as they shook him but he was unable to open his eyes or call out in fear of pain. "Yohji! Oh, God... Yohji help me!" The familiar voice paused and there was the distant sound of shuffling within. "It's Omi!" The deep tenor rang with concern welling deep within it.

_Omi?_ The boy thought distantly, only conscious of the heat as it drew away. _Am I Omi? I'd almost forgotten_... There was a gasp, but Omi could only hang limp. "Omittchi!" Again something shook him. The larger section of heat seemed almost unbearable against his freezing skin. "Oh, God... Ken, grab the blanket on the couch, we've got to get him inside!" Then the fire surrounded him, pulling him harder against it as it filled his nose with a scent he'd known long ago. _Has it been that long...?_ The lingering tobacco mixed with cologne and shampoo was nearly intoxicating now, but even more so was the personal musk hanging around him and the heat gripping behind his knees and across his bloodied back.

He was rushed somewhere, though now the turns Omi could hardly recall. He flame pulled away, replaced by something giving and soft to the touch. Swollen fingers twitched and pulled it tightly to him then the heat was against him again, pushing into his back to keep him warm. Omi's parched lips parted slightly, trying to form a word Omi didn't know and leaned into it as much as he could. "Omi... please... don't do this to me now..." Gruff baritone muttered, wrapping arms around him to hold him secure to his chest. "You can't die..."

_Die? I'm not going to die... I just want to go to sleep_. The boy thought distantly, unaware of how much blood he'd truly lost only hours before. "Ken, call Aya. Have him get here as fast as possible." Then the man drew away, only to part the blankets and allow another intoxicating wave of heat to enter. Omi could feel the tiny pinpricks ease painfully into his fingers. Feeling was slowly coming back, working its way up his arms and legs and finally to his back where he felt a painful sting where bare skin pressed against bare skin. He wanted to jump away, afraid of such contact. Who was this person? He knew, but he couldn't tell and still his body merely twitched and shuddered in response.

The strong arms rolled him over, taking small hands into large ones and massaging feeling back into the fingers and palms. "Wake up, please... don't go into relapse... oh God, no..." Omi shook terribly now and he couldn't tell if he was shivering or something far more serious. In fact the only reason he knew he was shaking was the movement of the other against him. All balance had been eliminated and with his eyes still frozen shut, Omi couldn't budge the lids. The heat surrounded him now, holding him as still as possible and still allowing the boy to breathe. At once he stopped, lapsing into a light shiver once more.

"Omittchi..." The voice whispered into his cold, wet hair. "Thank God you're still alive..." He placed a hand gently on Omi's back, tracing the lines of the gashes and cuts, taking great care not to touch the deepest, lying just parallel of his spine. Omi slowly relaxed, taking note that this stranger wasn't making a move to do anything more but warm him. However, the entanglement of their bare legs made him wonder for a moment why he trusted this man so much without recalling who he was. The boy pushed the thought away and nuzzled a bit against the man's chest and he could feel him smile in his hair, but Omi still couldn't move anything properly to smile back.

There he sat, cradled in a womb of comforting heat and surrouned by blissful silence until there came a sudden bang of the door against the wall and instinctively Omi's eyes snapped open, despite the frost still freezing his eyelashes. Everything was unfocused, but at least now he could place pointless names to blurry faces. A red-haired man strode in angrily, his orange sweater standing out hard against the white walls. Omi couldn't tell eye colour at this point, but distantly he knew the violet depths would be concerned and furious. This had to be Aya, but others called him something else. Omi decided not to strain himself. "Yohji, what happened?" The man demanded, but no one spoke. The man holding him merely shook his head and Omi knew that he would be the one named 'Yohji.' Still no face came to him in the fogged depths of his mind to match the name.

In strode a younger man, still older than himself, and a few inches shorter than Aya. His chocolate brown hair was mussed and blurry brown brows creased upwards heavily into his forehead. "We don't really know... but..." He shook his head and held up his hands in a 'we couldn't help it' gesture. "He's torn up really badly. And that's not the end of it." He pulled out what seemed to be a piece of paper from which he read. "Immortality isn't worth it..." He handed it over to the red-haired man and ran a hand through his hair. This had to be Ken, Omi realized with a start. Things were beginning to come back to him but still no face came from the depths to identify this 'Yohji,' but he knew that whoever it was, he could be trusted if he was a friend of Weiß. "What do you think it means?" At this Omi slid his eyes closed, the fog beginning to give him a headache.

Aya didn't reply for a long while. Then he sighed and said, "I don't know. There is only one thing I can think, but it couldn't be."

"But it had to have been Schwarz," Ken retorted suddenly. "Who else wants immortality, Aya? Schrient has been dead since the incident at Hirofumi's. If it's not Schwarz, who is it?"

_Schwarz_... Omi thought, memory returning to him. All the pain washed back into his bones and muscle until he whimpered and clung to Yohji. The man shushed him and pet his wet, blonde hair. Had he just realized what he'd gotten away from? He could have been killed; he could have had to take all of that over again because of a tiny mistake. He could have been a slave to them until they decided to take their plans further. Discoloured fingers clenched against Yohji's toned arms and he held the boy more securely.

Aya amazingly had been keeping his temper, though Omi could tell that it was rising. "Someone else. Schwarz is dead and we can't keep blaming our problems on them."

Again Ken wasted the energy to argue the matter. It had been a long, hard night, it seemed, for Ken was the only one with the vital energy to argue with Aya. "Then how do you explain this? How did we make it out of there alive if they didn't, too? You've seen what Nagi can do, why wouldn't he use his powers to get Schwarz out of the collapse?"

"Besides," The man above Omi replied. His voice purred against the boy's head, but the man spoke sincerely. "We denied them their immortality, why wouldn't they come back for their revenge?" The man sighed and rested his head down once more, stroking Omi's cold, wet hair. It was much as Schuldich had, but much more tender and guiltlessly enjoyable. "I just wonder why they gave him back..." Suddenly full of resolve the man pulled away from Omi, who reached out in a plea to call him back. Omi opened his eyes just long enough to see the blonde man shrug on a bathrobe and a picture clicked in his mind. _Oh... Yohji. But why...?_ His mind trailed off, not able to hold a string together for long. "Ken, keep him warm," Omi heard the man call from the doorway, "I'm going to start a bath..." Then he was gone.

A weight settled on the bed and Omi knew it was Ken, but still he opened his eyes to the best of his ability. He parted chapped lips, working his throat until he could speak. When the voice emerged it was quiet at best, a cracking whisper. "I... I thought they were dead, too." He swallowed and attempted to focus his eyes. "But it was... Schwarz. They're alive. They said that they would have preferred Yotan..."

Aya's smooth voice sounded in, standing next to Ken once more. "They would have preferred him for what?" Omi lay back down on the pillow, eyeing them carefully with the memories of before running through his mind, taunting him by triggering the remaining injuries into a twinging pain.

"They though that... they could use us for..." He coughed a bit and shivered, almost overtaken by the thoughts now and the imaginary chill winter air. He mentally cursed himself. _Don't think about it now, just tell them. It's important not to hurt yourself with it just now so_... All the screaming and begging returned to him in flashes, the shame he held standing nude in the snow. Then there was the unbearable pain that still screamed inside him. "They needed a sacrifice. They found another way to become immortal." Omi wanted his tears to flow now to ease the lump in his throat, but they would not come.

"So why didn't they take Yohji?" Aya prodded. For a moment Omi didn't answer, still trying to figure it out himself, but once he saw Ken flush and elbow the red-haired man in the ribs, he came to the same conclusion.

_So what if it's embarrassing, I've got nothing to hide from the world now... They couldn't have taken any of them, then_... Omi parted parched lips, creaking whisper returning. "I think they needed a virgin..." A flash of apprehension crossed Aya's face, but left just as quickly, unnoticed by either in the room. Omi supposed it was obvious now what had happened, what with the blood leaking down his legs and the shameful bareness of his body. He considered his words then continued. "They made me do… horrible things...but..." An image entered his head, small arms carrying him with certainty, bobbing up and down as they walked. The warmth and then... "...Someone brought me back. I don't remember who it was... I never saw." His brows furrowed as he replaced his gaze on the knitting of the sheets. He opened his mouth to continue, but Yohji had walked through the door again and he immediately shut it, not wanting him to know fully what happened yet.

The blonde man cast a green gaze around the room and immediately suspected that they'd been speaking without him. However, he shrugged and hoped Omi would tell him in good time. For now, he approached the bed and hefted the boy into his arms and held his cold body to him, only blocked by the soft blanket Omi clung to. He glanced seriously to the boy, finding that this wasn't the best time to be joking with him due to the fogged cerulean gaze resting transfixed on his face. "You okay?" Omi nodded and Yohji gave a weak smile as he carried him two doors down the hall into the bathroom.

As they walked, or as he was carried, Omi leaned in to the familiar scent he'd just recently recognized and fiddled with the soft fabric of the blanket, noting the scent, he found that it was Yohji's own. It was his favourite, Omi noted as he glanced at the lily-like flowers crocheted on the corners, the one that Yohji himself would skin if they used. A bit of warmth bubbled up in Omi's chest, but immediately left as he was placed coldly on the toilet seat. He watched with blurry eyes as Yohji turned and shut the door. Unease welled up where the warmth of protection had once been. _No, I'm trapped again. I can't get out now... No, no I can't think like this..._ Omi attempted to correct himself. _This isn't Schwarz. Yohji wouldn't do anything to hurt me. He's part of Weiß just like me..._ Omi smashed the feeling down into the depths of his mind.

"Can I?" Yohji asked, motioning to the blanket wrapped securely around him. The young boy gave him an unsure nod, but allowed him to pull the blanket to his waist to get a full view of the damage. The cuts were indeed shallow, but still they refused to stop bleeding. The scarlet had stained onto his blanket, but Yohji couldn't care less now. He ran two fingers along the cuts then worked their way to the jagged gashes caused by dull, ripping instruments. The starting point curved then drew back skin to wrinkle in sheets at the end. Yohji surmised them to be from fingernails and bit his lip. "I'm guessing this was Farfarello's doing?" He received a nod and he winced as he pulled away the excess skin. Omi didn't move, surely hardly able to feel it amidst the pain he must be having elsewhere. That is if they did what Yohji suspected. He swallowed, not something he usually did in the wake of nervousness, but he decided to give it a whirl. "Omittchi... did they rape you?"

The boy practically shrank in his own skin, but Yohji knew it to be true and almost immediately became angry. Still he took a breath and circled around to look Omi in the eye. He was serious, stern, almost professional had it not been for the concern deep in those gold-flecked depths. "So you're hurting pretty bad then." Omi seemed to get even smaller and Yohji shook his head and pulled the boy into a careful hug. "I understand, Omittchi. Maybe not completely, but I understand." He closed his eyes and held on to the boy a bit more firmly. He blinked away the tears forming in the back of his eyes. "It happened to me, too. Not with Schwarz, but it happened..."

He pulled away and stood. "Either way... we need to get you clean and warm... at least as much as we can." Immediately he pulled the sheet away, dunking Omi into the lukewarm water who screeched and nearly began cursing. Yohji knew he would have if he'd had more voice. "Don't worry about it, Omittchi... you're just too cold to tell the difference." He knelt by the edge of the tub once the boy had sunk in to his nose. Yohji reached across the tub to grab a bar of soap and motioned for Omi to turn. He obeyed without question and slumped facing the wall as Yohji lathered the soap and rubbed him down with it. "You know, Omittchi, this isn't your fault."

"Yes it is," the boy retorted, his voice nearly as deep as Yohji's own from the scratches he bore on the chords. "I never should have left home. I should have never been born… my parents didn't want me, after all... and even if I was I shouldn't have been so stupid."

Yohji's brows furrowed over green eyes and he rubbed harder on the cuts. "Are you joking? No matter what anyone did, there would have been no way to get out of the situation. It's not because you're stupid. You're certainly the hardest working member of Weiß, a genius hacker and the head of operations since Persia was killed." Yohji knew this to be a touchy subject, but if something had to hit him it was this. "Why would Kritiker leave an idiot in charge of Weiß's operations?"

The boy leaned forward to rest his head on the tiled wall. "That may as well have been my fault, too. Every time anything's happened it's because I'm too weak to handle a situation. I'm too stupid to realize that I'm a hazard to Weiß all together. Father got killed because of me, Ouka was killed because of me and I may as well die because of me, too."

Green eyes narrowed further and Yohji dropped the soap into the tub to stand. He slipped out of the black silk robe and climbed into the tub, forcing Omi to lean against the back. "None of that was your fault, Omi." Yohji was sure to use his true name rather than any of the nicknames he had if only to make a point. "Ouka died because of Schwarz, your father died because of Takatori. Everything that happened is their fault not ours."

"I'm a Takatori, too Yohji. I may as well kill myself and save you all the grief!" He was immediately slammed against the wall of the tub, but he grit his teeth so as not to cry out. "I'm just as much to blame as the rest of my family, why doesn't Weiß kill me? I deserve it, I've killed just as many people as any of them so I deserve to die with them, don't you think? I'm just as guilty as they are."

Yohji's face was contorted into a sneer. "You don't know what it's like to feel guilty, Omi. You have no idea what it's like to be at fault for something. Try joining the police and having to explain to someone that your mistakes cost their loved one's life. Try that for a day and then say you're just like your family because you won't be. Takatori killed for power and we kill those who endanger society. You don't and if you deserve to die, so do I because I sure as hell have hurt far more innocent people than you. Don't you dare say that you're to blame or all of this is your fault because you weren't being punished for it."

"So why did they have to take me?" Omi pleaded, sobbing silently without tears. "Why did they have to use me?"

"Because they like toying with virgins who are smart enough to save themselves for someone special rather than fuck any ape on the streets." Yohji blurted out, not sure how he knew that this is what Omi meant.

The boy closed his eyes and looked away for a moment. "I would have... I would have had I known that it would save me from them." He turned back, eyes filled with a hazy determination. "I would have begged out on the streets for it had it only kept me from facing that."

"And you would have gotten the same thing. Only then would I see you as a fool because you'd be just like me." He pointed at himself with a thumb before slipping his hand back down into the water. "I did that. I begged for it everywhere, I wore as little clothing as possible and strutted the streets looking for a quick lay to spare me of my virginity. You know what happened? I was raped. That's right, but I wasn't saved. I lay there in the streets until the police found me almost dead. That could have been you and then I would see you as a fool." He propped himself up and pulled his hair back to tie it into a ragged ponytail with slippery, wet hands. "As it is, I respect you for who you are and who you've become."

Omi looked up at the tall, nude form of Yohji hovering above him. "Still... it would have been better than being forced to comply."

The older man rolled his eyes and dropped back onto his hands and knees, staring Omi dead in the eye with an angry smirk. "You just don't get it do you?" He shook his head at the boy. "You could have been killed Omi." Yohji's expression transformed, now sad and wandering. "You're lucky that Farfarello didn't tear you apart..." He reared up and pulled Omi along with him, holding him in a fierce embrace. A shudder came over him and Yohji felt the hot tears stream down his face. "Aya wouldn't let me go. He didn't want me causing more trouble than needed..." Baritone voice wavering Yohji kept on. "When I found you gone last night, I felt like I was dying, but still I wasn't allowed to do anything but sit and wait for any news."

Omi turned away, too depressed to care any longer about the nudity. His entire body hurt, save the warm circle of Yohji's arms. "What's wrong with you?" It was amazing how much like Nagi the boy sounded in this state of self-loathing and bitterness. "Don't you know that everything I touch dies? After all, Kami's not going to help, no matter how loud I scream."

Melancholy hung in the air until Yohji pulled back, green eyes stern and lips pulled taught in a frown. "Omi, stop this right now." He gripped slim shoulders firmly, but not hard enough to bruise. "Don't you see me? I was shit before you came along. I was a no good player who cared more about where I would get my next lay more than my next meal. I didn't know a damned thing about joy or anything. But I saw you and I got to know you. I found out that through all the things you lived through and everything that you saw and forgot and learned again, you still smiled every day without reservation. Don't you dare go saying that you're not worth anything more than dirty cash because you're dead wrong. Money isn't worth shit when it comes to you, Omi."

Orchid fingers caressed his face, brushing away the wisps of wavy blonde hair that had escaped the ponytail. Omi's legs, which had slid beneath Yohji long before, now settled between his legs. His back had been firmly pressed against the wall of the tub, but now free of Yohji's grip, Omi pulled him forward. He could feel the hot breath escape his lips to brush against Omi's own. "Show me, Yotan..." He whispered as he pressed his small form against Yohji's bare skin. "Prove it to me... I want to be cared for, I want to know that someone in the world loves me for what I am." _Don't let me hurt anymore... don't make me think. I'm a whore, Yohji... prove it to me now_... "Do anything you want..." He placed tiny kisses along Yohji's collarbone and along his shoulder, drawing a few gasps from the older man. Omi drew back and wrapped his arms around Yohji to pull him into an underwater embrace. He could feel their legs tangling and he whispered lightly into Yohji's pierced ear, "Don't treat me like a child anymore."

Yohji almost gave in, but immediately pulled away once his action had been caught. He stood in the water, leaving Omi beneath him still broken and bloodied. His brows furrowed realizing he'd almost made a grave mistake. _Only cheap whores would use this as an opportunity_... "How can I help it," the man replied with burning green eyes, "when you're acting so much like one?" He stepped out of the tub and replaced his silk robe without hesitation. He opened the door, but before he left he said to the boy, "Come out when you've got your head on straight."

The door clicked shut and Omi sunk deeper into the water, knowing he had made a big mistake. He strained, with the waterline to his nose, to hear the conversation outside the door.

* * *

"What did he do?" Ken insisted, arms open wide. "You seem a bit too upset for the answer to be 'nothing'"

"No kidding I'm upset!" The older man fumed pacing through the hallway. "He wants something that I can't bring myself to give him. He tried to get me to have sex with him, Ken." Yohji explained angrily. Aya had already left, it seemed, to meet up with Aya-chan and explain the situation. "I can't. It's not about the laws anymore or my morals, it's about him. Even if his birthday had come and gone, I still couldn't do it. His body wouldn't be able to take it if I wanted to, Ken."

Ken crossed his arms and sighed. "You've got to wait, Yohji. Just wait until morning. Then you can explain to him why you've got to be this way." He leaned against the wall of the hallway to watch Yohji stalk back and forth. "Keep to the plan."

"It's not just that. How is he going to take everything if he finds out after he was raped by a bunch of men? He's going to hate me for the rest of his life and I'll never be able to forgive myself. How can I tell him that I'm absolutely in love with him when all he's ever seen of me is the snotty playboy who only cares about sex, booze and smokes?" He stopped and ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Shit, I'm not his type at all." He picked up his feet, resuming his pace once more. "First of all, I'm a guy. We know for sure that Omi likes women to some extent. Second of all, I'm six years older. Third, I'm a smoker, a drinker, I'm said to have many partners at once..." He tallied then shook his head. "But that was before Omi. That was before everything."

Ken placed two steady hands to stop him. "Like I said, wait until morning. He'll have himself straightened out and he'll be eighteen. We'll still have his party and hand out presents, just like we planned and you'll talk to him after dinner. You've got to keep everything normal, Yohji."

_Calm and collected, Kudou... calm and collected_... He sighed and nodded. "He'll be four, Ken. His birthday is on a leap year..." Yohji received a 'yeah, so?' glare from the younger boy and nodded. "Okay, you're right... but it just gets on my nerves that he would toy with me like that. I'm not a wind up doll for babies to play with! I'll make my own choices, I'll do my own thing just as long as some kid doesn't push my buttons!" He belted out as an after thought, relieving the frustration tugging at his chest.

"Yohji?"

The man rounded on the figure and immediately wished he hadn't. "What?" Omi stood, leaning almost completely on the frame of the door. In his hands he clenched the embroidered blanket to his chest until only his neck and shoulders were visible. He looked up at Yohji with overly bright, angry eyes.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Omi spat and stumbled to the next room and fumbled with the doorknob until it opened, then locked himself in.

Yohji ran a long-fingered hand through his mussed hair and slid down the wall. "Ken," He muttered, "I fucked up again, didn't I?" He watched the younger man nod and clap a hand on his shoulder before striding away. Blonde hair falling into his green eyes, Yohji sneered. _It always turns out like this, doesn't it? You screw up and then you have to pay your debt twenty times over. I decided to wait a long time ago, didn't I? When was it? Was it when Omi fell for Ouka?_ He shook his head, placing a hand on his brow, pondering. _It was before that, but I had to keep my exterior. I couldn't let Weiß know about any of it. It would be a danger to anything happening and nothing would ever get done. I'd be kept from missions pairings with Omi to keep me out of trouble... but even though I kept my image, kept up the playboy routine, I never stayed the night with women. Not after I had made my decision. But then Ken figured it out. "Don't you have any women to say goodbye to?" He'd asked me before we went off to kill Takatori. How could I reply with Omi standing right beside me, looking so longingly up as Aya spoke to Sakura_?

_But Ken and I are in the same boat now, aren't we? He told me the smart thing. Let it pass. Too bad I'm not very good at controlling my feelings. In fact I couldn't even let Asuka go. That's how I ran into trouble. Neu. She had the same face, the same eyes... but they were so cruel. I wanted to fix everything, I wanted to make it right. It had been the one thing that I had wished for so long and so I tried to let Omi go. To do so, I killed the one I had known as Asuka only to hear her call out another man's name before she died. I was overcome by grief. How was I supposed to know what to do? So I've waited still, holding on to the guilt that I killed my last love and all I can wonder is if I'll do it to Omi, too. That's why I hold back, isn't it?_ He shook his head and pulled himself to stand. There was no use thinking about it, he had to explain a few things, whether Omi hated him for it or not. "Better to be hated for a reason..." Yohji muttered and headed directly to his room.

He pulled on his comfortable clothes, deciding that there was no use in impressing people. The T-shirt clung just a little, as did the faded Levis. Still they were impressively comfortable whether they looked the best on him or not. He pulled back his hair into a fresh ponytail and set off. Omi would be in the room between Yohji's and the bath. It was just a few steps away but still Yohji stared at it for quite a bit of time, trying to phrase words that he knew he'd never end up saying. He inhaled. _Here it goes_... He knocked three times and received no answer. He leaned in against the door to listen within, only to hear a sniffle of Omi crying. Yohji's brows knit together and he knocked again. "Omittchi? Can I talk to you?"

Immediately the boy cried out "No!" in a great sob. "You don't have to comfort a child."

Yohji's heart sank and he allowed his hand to slip down to his side. "That's not what I meant... If you would just let me explain..."

"There's nothing to explain!" The tenor voice seemed muffled now, turned from the door. "I understand perfectly." Omi's cries were apparent, shaking his voice into uncontrollable peaks and valleys all the while jumbling the words and slurring them together.

Yohji jiggled the handle, now angry as well as desperate. Finding it still locked he called out again. "Omittchi, let me in. There are things that I need to say." The silence held and Yohji sighed. "I'm going to talk to you whether you let me in or I pick the lock."

"Don't you think you've said enough?" Came the dim reply. Omi was losing his regained sense at a rapid pace and it became apparent to Yohji that if someone didn't talk to him Omi might take things to a drastic level. The man nodded to himself and fished out the lock pick which he'd left in his pocket a while back. With a flick of the wrist the door was opened to reveal a pyjama-clad boy, bruised and battered by the day's events, staring transfixed from his pillow through swollen cerulean eyes. Apparently Yohji's words had finally been enough to draw the last tears from the boy's eyes and Yohji couldn't help the pang of guilt in his chest.

"Look, Yohji, you didn't have to help me. Things would have been a lot better had you and Ken just left me out there." Frost bitten, swollen fingers picked at the fabric of Yohji's blanket as it was still wrapped around him. "Then you wouldn't have to take care of me anymore."

The older man closed the door and re-locked it. In a few strides he was on the bed, sitting next to his sobbing companion. "I don't take care of you because I have to," Yohji explained slowly so that it could sink in. "I do it because I want to." He sighed and ran his fingers through tangled blonde bangs. Bags had already formed beneath green eyes from the day's stress, but he left them alone. "And I don't... think of you as a child."

"Like hell you don't!" Omi snapped, remembering Yohji's words from minutes before. It wasn't often that Omi cursed, so Yohji almost took to the urge to look at him sideways. "That surely isn't what you told Ken."

Yohji shook his head. "You must have selective hearing. I said a lot of things that definitely didn't say that." He was shaking by now with anxiety and wished to no ends that he could light up a cigarette. However, the rules in Omi's room were plainly stated and final: no smokes, no drinks, and no double sleeping. "I'm not saying that I didn't say it, but you don't know the whole story. To me, to the rest of Weiß you are the youngest brother and you will always be a 'kid' but not in the way that you're a child. It's sort of a nickname, I guess. We use it a lot when you're not around." He scratched his head, knowing that the explanation sounded ridiculous. However strange it must have seemed, it was the truth.

There was a sniffle from the boy as he rolled over. "So... you won't have me because of my age, is that right?"

"No, Omittchi!" The man stood and strode to the other side of the bed, kneeling to stare straight into those teary blue eyes. "I got upset before because I don't want to be lusted for. Not by you. I would give all of it up if only..." Yohji shook his head, firmly insistent in the belief that to hope would be foolish. Instead he turned his back on the boy to stare out the window at the oncoming dawn.

"Yohji?" The boy called, but received no answer. "No, Yotan what were you going to say?" Omi's heart had nearly stopped when Yohji had turned away. Now butterflies beat angrily at his stomach and up his throat until he felt as though he could hardly breathe. Using nearly limp arms, he pulled himself up to ease off the bed, but ended up falling to the floor in a crumpled heap. The older man spun, allowing a second's glance at the wide, worried expression crossing his face with his mouth hung open.

The older man hurriedly checked for bruises and breaks with long-fingered hands. Finding none of either he leaned back on his heels and sighed. "Don't do that."

Omi gave a weak grin. "But Yohji, what were you about to say?" Discoloured appendages reached out to brush the older man's hand where he placed his own and squeezed as best he could.

Green eyes darted up at the touch to meet cerulean. He eased up and wrapped his own fingers around the hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but glanced out the window with a smile, muttering, "Wait until the morning..." Then he let out the breath he hadn't known he's been holding and said, "I'd give it all up if only you'd learn to love me."

* * *

Nagi watched from afar, cobalt eyes piercing the smile of the angel's face when he nodded and wrapped slim arms around the older man. Even through the bitterness, he couldn't help but smile. He'd released the angel and given up immortality, but it was all worth it. He would win the angel's heart and keep it secure next to his own. "Omi, repay the favour for me; teach me how to love without regards, without bitterness and without pain." He then placed his hands in his pockets and strode away into the dawn, only to return to claim his prize. 


	2. Issues in Security

Cigarette Juice Box

Chapter 2: Issues in Security

WARNING! Angst

* * *

Omi slid into his computer desk with such familiarity that conscious thought was no longer needed to make the gentle strokes to turn on the machine in front of him. He listened to its comforting hum with a sense of contentment for a moment before slipping into the computer chair. As the screen popped up the usual inscribed code proceeded to show, as it always did, until the code was broken. An old, nervous habit, perhaps from when they had to hide themselves from prying public eyes. Of course, the same coding was used now to block something much more precious, much more personal than any of the information Weiß had ever handled.

The boy glanced around the room and sighed, convinced that his team wouldn't return until late or, in Ken's case, early. Now that Aya... Now that Ran was living with his sister the occasional visits usually consummated of picking up and dropping off Ken from his various runs. Omi chuckled to himself, thinking of how pleased Ran must have been when he found that Ken's bike was stolen. Although he didn't show any obvious emotion, Omi knew that his red-haired companion had to have been ecstatic. It was just another reason for him to cover up his apparent attraction for the boy. Perhaps he didn't see how plain it was, or perhaps he himself hadn't figured out his feelings or why he had grown so close to Ken within the past year since Schwarz's supposed death.

A bit antsy to log on, Omi rapidly placed the keystrokes to unlock the heavy security placed on the PC. A document popped up, filled with typing and dates and at the end, a flashing black line urging him to continue writing. With Ken working and Yohji clubbing, Omi had the house completely to himself and secrecy needn't be involved when it came to typing in this document. Little did Weiß know that, if they really wished to know what the boy did late at night typing at the computer, they could easily log onto the Internet and find the entire (though vague) account of Omi's life since Weiß had formed.

Now his fingers hovered over the keys as though trying to figure out where to begin. He tapped on them experimentally a few times, but stilled shortly afterward in thought. Many posts had come previous, explaining the situation of things wandering through the boy's mind. Many revolved around his wish to be understood or longing to give up this life engulfed in darkness. Every time these posts were cast aside and he continued living the masquerade that was his life. Taking a deep breath Omi put fingers to keys once more and words were quickly tapped onto the page.

"_March 2,_

"_I once heard a song and all I can say is that it explains many things about me others wouldn't recognise on my face. Every thing is just like this... 'I can't change this feeling, I'm way out of touch. Can't change this meaning when it means too much.' I could place the entire song and it would tell you everything lurking in this brain of mine. Lately it seems as though someone_ _is toying with my thoughts and, going through the crisis as I am now, it's quite difficult to ward off the nightmares. I'm not so confused anymore. Or at least about "Playboy." He wants me to love him. It's a nice thought, but I hardly know anything about him. All anyone's ever seen until now is the mask of the, well, playboy and I've just skimmed the surface of him, of who he is._

"But then there's this voice that's been calling to me. It plagues me until I can't tell if it's me thinking… or if these thoughts are someone else's. You would be confused, too if you've ever experienced his manipulative voice. It's slightly nasal, the voice of a German, constantly tickling and flicking at your thoughts and erasing them, twisting them and making them his own. Along with all of the words are the lingering green eyes on your back, in your mind, created in the veins in your eyelids. I had a run in with him about a week ago, if any of you have read it. Schuldich. I don't know what he wants with me now. The ritual can't be complete until Nagi does what he's going to do, but I haven't seen him anywhere. At times there are grey blurs or startling hard eyes, but none of them turn out to be him. It's just something that I have to wonder about. Would Schuldich come after me and finish the job, leave Nagi out of the circle? I can't tell if I'd prefer that to the anticipation.

"_Either way I know that it's not the probing he usually does. 'I've got somebody else's thoughts in my head, I want some of my own.' It's driving me crazy. I haven't been acting like myself lately. It's almost as though I'm looking at who I was and who I am now and not recognising myself. Instead I see someone else and I remind me of something... of someone. I can't possibly have changed that much, can I? Of course, one would think that with such a traumatic experience I would grow bitter or timid. To tell you the truth, it doesn't mean anything to me at the moment. I'm coping. What else can a person be expected to do? Try to turn the culprit into the police? Sure, as though that would help. If anyone recalls the collapse of the Takatori manor and research facility, it can be said that the house was levelled by only one member of Schwarz._

"_But still this voice pulls at me, trying to get me somewhere where no one is. It's times like those that I have to try my best to resist it, as hard as it may be. But... I've been getting wanderlust, even without Schuldich poking and prodding my thoughts. I want to go to the store or to the flower shop or even to the library. Geez, I don't care anymore. Perhaps being locked in the house does that to a person._

"_That and it makes me grouchy. I'm a guy who likes sunshine. I like to walk down the street and feel the air on my face. Without it I'm as stiff as Abyssinian. I get upset and I say things I don't mean, but no one understands that. They almost seem to expect me to act completely normally… ignore the whole experience._

"_They don't understand a lot of things. Since my birthday, Abyssinian has been giving me these looks. I don't know if they're angry or scrutinising. I can't tell. Maybe he's being protective, but I don't know anymore. At times it seems as though he's glaring at me like I was a whore. You know, that horrible, degrading stare that pleasant churchgoers give women other than themselves. Abyssinian certainly isn't a churchgoer, but it seems as though he's lost his respect for me since I had my incident and now I'm more of a child in his eyes than I ever was. Can't be helped, I suppose, but 'I can't be the only one misunderstood.' It's not as though I enjoyed it and I can swear to the fact that I haven't done it since. To tell you the truth, I don't plan to have sex for a long time, if ever. I almost think I'd be happier that way._

"_Everything's breaking down and, as usual in an occasion like this, I don't know how to handle it. I can't claim to always know what I'm going to do and I've surely never been emotionally stable. I don't mean to say that I'm fickle, but when something extreme comes into play, I have a tendency to handle it poorly. So poorly, in fact, that at times I even lose sight of who I am. I forget about the people who have helped me become who I am now, in the absence of my parents. So, again, 'I remind myself of somebody else now.' To the point that I'm losing sight of myself, again. Maybe it would be easier is I just gave up this life and continued on as Mamoru. Then again, I can't leave without knowing the people I care about will be taken care of._

" '_I'm coming closer to finding it doesn't mean anything' None of this means anything does it? All of the things that I do have no point anymore. I live to... cause a problem, I suppose. There's nothing for me to fight for, nothing for me to put my life to. After all, Kami was never watching me."_

Omi hung his head in his hands, staring at the keyboard with confused cerulean orbs. He sighed, shook his head and slouched against the back of his chair. Maybe Farfarello was right. After all of the things Omi had done, it could be expected that He'd turned His back. He didn't help him after Omi'd been kidnapped, He didn't help him regain his memory afterwards, He just left Omi in the darkness to find his own light. It was the light of the cross, but not the kind one would expect. "Fucking angel..." The boy muttered, "Kami was never watching you..." Weiß's cross was the guilt that they would carry on their backs until their hour of death.

The boy pulled himself up from the chair and stretched in an attempt to clear his head. "Well," He decided, pulling on his jacket and toboggan, "No one's here to keep me from leaving." Catching a glimpse of his own stiff, bruised fingers he resolved to grab his darts just as he headed out the door.

* * *

Omi was thoroughly relieved to find that it had stopped snowing. However, winter still held nature firm, so low grey clouds blocked sight of the moon. The blonde pulled his jacket firmly around himself and skipped down the front steps. Just as he walked out into the night, a few fat drops of rain splattered against the pavement. _Just my luck_. He thought to himself. "The one day I get the guts to leave and..." He cut off his own sentence as the clouds grew suddenly dark and lightning illuminated the sky in the distance. Instead of turning back, he shoved his hands deep into the warm confines of his pockets. An icy wind was blowing in from the west. It sent small, delicate shivers down Omi's spine. He couldn't help but smile. Although the weather was down, Omi was nonetheless exposed to it again. It blew against the skin of his face and raised the small blonde hairs on the back of his neck as he strode down the street. Here, now outside in the oncoming storm, the darts settled comfortably in his palm, giving him a sense of security that had long left and so he held his head high.

Around the corner he knew there to be a sweet shop. Of course Omi had left his money at home, but he'd also left his sweet tooth and so decided to merely gaze at the candies from the window. As he rounded the corner he found the window slightly dimmed and surrounded by onlookers. Cerulean eyes caught a glimpse of toys moving and then resolved to join the girls in watching. His gaze rested on the moving machines and a smile came to his face. Others soon leaned in together and whispered, giggling and pointing at him. Omi paid them no mind and instead pressed his palms against the window to openly stare at the soldiers raising their guns and swords against each other above the open chocolate boxes and jars of hard candy. Omi could only imagine them using the candies as barricades. Each toy seemed to be illuminated by it's own coloured light to draw attention to the window. His breath began to fog the window, so he pulled back to wipe the glass. The giggling had grown and Omi gave in to his urges and turned.

His gaze began at the shoes; the black hiking boots were slightly covered by the indigo jeans. Following up the denim upon the long legs he met the striped forest green and gold hem of a letterman's jacket. The bulk of the jacket was the same green as on the hem as he followed it up. Around the neck of this onlooker lay a hemp necklace with small terracotta beads. Omi swallowed and plastered a smile on his face. He met the ends of deep crimson hair, a permanent frown, then the half-western nose and finally hard violet eyes. Omi gave a nervous laugh. "Ran... em... Aya, I wasn't planning on seeing you here." The man, in reply, furrowed his eyebrows and drug the boy to his car waiting on the curb. He opened the door and threw the much smaller boy onto the passenger's side before crawling into the driver's seat.

"What were you doing out there?" He demanded coldly from behind the wheel as he revved the engine.

Omi slouched deep into the seat. "I've been locked up for a full week, Aya. Be realistic, I can't stay inside forever."

Aya sneered, revealing a row of pearlescent teeth and continued, ignoring Omi's comment. "Who knows if there are still people watching for you out there." The car sped down the street, past the apartment and Omi knew that this was going to be a long conversation. "I knew that good for nothing would leave you alone." He rounded the corner, heading for the cafe, it seemed.

The younger boy glared up at him with hard, sapphire eyes. He wanted so badly to tell him how he saw things, but Omi knew that he couldn't snap at Aya no matter how much he wanted to. He was Omi's leader, after all. "I haven't gone anywhere no matter if it's with someone else or not. For crying out loud, I haven't even been to school. I've had to have Yohji call in as my father to explain my absence."

"School is the worst place for you to be. It's a routine that anyone could easily catch on to." Aya was no longer sneering, but the frown still hung prominent on his face. His eyes were blank, showing nothing whatsoever. "If they really wanted, they could have shown up at the apartment."

That thought had never occurred and it could have very well have been that he was least safe locked in the apartment. For that matter he hadn't locked the front door or any of the windows, not that the windows would matter to begin with when someone could easily break one and get in anyway. Apparently Yohji and Ken hadn't thought of that either. Then there was the blinking document on the screen of his computer... "Aya, turn around!" The thought was sudden and without real reason. The car kept going forwards. "If they're looking for me then they'd check the house."

Aya didn't make a move to turn. "That's what I was saying before. That's all the more reason for you not to be there."

Omi was sitting up straight, worry spreading through him, starting at his stiff purple fingers. "You're taking care of Ken tonight, right?" Ken was working the late shift tonight and usually when that happened he stayed at Aya's. Now, however, Omi had to be sure that he wouldn't pass over Ken when he took his future actions.

"He gets off at three, so he said that he'd leave Yohji in charge of you." He could see the fogged thought pass over his eyes as though he were saying that it had been a daft decision. "That's why I'm taking you with me."

The boy furrowed his brows and leaned against the door, hand pressed inconspicuously against the handle. "Thanks Aya, but I can't let Yohji face Schwarz alone..." He gave a sharp pull on the handle and was immediately rolling on the pavement, scraping himself and cutting into the skin on his face. He heard the car he'd previously been in screech to a halt and he knew that he'd have to hurry else the red-haired man would catch up.

Omi pulled himself from the ground and sped off into the trees on his way back to the apartment. The storm had already picked up, fat drops falling to the ground in rapid succession; thunder cracked, signalling the complete downpour.

* * *

He'd left home without an umbrella, it seemed, telling Omi that he was going out clubbing. In reality he'd arranged a meeting between himself and the one called Nagi. The boy never replied. Yohji still kept his side of the bargain, just in case he decided to show up, but Nagi never appeared, and so the blonde man left, shrugging off the usual trail of women. Now he covered his head, trying to keep the rain off of him as he fumbled to open the door. Thunder clapped and Yohji twisted with wet hands and finally it swung open, allowing the man to rush in. He pulled at his ponytail in an attempt to ring out the rain, but soon gave up. "Omittchi, I'm home!"

The blonde pulled off his jacket and flung it in his usual fashion to the floor. Shoes sopping wet, he removed those as well and then his socks afterwards. It was certainly cold inside as well as out, but surely Omi wouldn't have left the windows open in this. "Omittchi!" He started down the short hallway into the living room where the fire wasn't lit but the heater remained on. Strange, though it seemed that the heater should've been working, the house was still bitter cold. Yohji rubbed his hands against his arms and checked the kitchen, only to find it dark as well.

Throughout the entire house no lights were on, so it seemed that Omi was asleep. He strode into his own room to pull on some dry clothes, consisting of a cream knit sweater and a pair of too tight indigo jeans. He pulled on some socks and slipped on the white slippers by his door before moving on to check on the dozing boy.

His usual three knocks sounded, but no reply came. Just like he had a week ago, Yohji pressed his ear against the door, only to find no sound but the pattering of rain. Again he rapped his knuckles against the door and again there was no answer. The man was thoroughly confused. Omi wasn't normally a heavy sleeper… He decided to call out. "Omittchi? Can I come in?" Just the wind replied on the other side. He turned the knob to find it, strangely, unlocked. It swung open easily on its hinges and Yohji entered.

At first the sight didn't register. The window was open wide, allowing rain to stream in and be absorbed in the carpet on the floor. His computer had been left on, icon blinking at the bottom of the screen as though begging to be continued. His room lay in complete disaster, much unlike how Omi usually kept his room. Clothes were now strewn on the ground and pieces of his favourite figurines lay smashed and pressed into the carpet. Yohji's wide eyes soon relaxed at the sight of a peaceful crumpled form lying beneath the covers of his bed.

Yohji gave a shake of his head and a smile before closing the window and picking up a few articles of clothing for the wash. Laying them on his computer chair he glanced at the contents of the document, only to read the last sentences with a start. "You're happiest in your world full of arrows. I'll break your heart, change your soul again, this time your friends..." He furrowed his brows and looked at the line above. "After all, Kami was never watching me." It seemed to the man that Omi had gone crazy. 'Kami was never watching me. You're happiest in your world full of arrows. I'll break your heart, change your soul again...' He wouldn't dare go after Kami for everything that's happened, would he? It never seemed as though Omi would be the kind of person to take heed of Farfarello's point of view.

A calm, singsong voice seemed to answer him from the bed and it certainly wasn't Omi's. "It seems as though he's talking about you, I think." Yohji spun, gazing deep into slit green eyes. The red-haired man merely smiled and continued speaking. "The Kitten could be blaming you. After all, you weren't there when he needed you most."

"Schuldich." The blonde man spat. "What did you do to him?"

Green eyes narrowed, staring more like a cat than before. "Oh, I didn't do anything to him. It was you. You let us rape him. But no, you had to listen to Aya, didn't you?" He laughed, nasal voice sending angry chills down Yohji's spine. "How demeaning," he chuckled, "to take orders from someone younger than you. Especially with as much experience as you've got, detective." He grinned and pulled himself from the bed, running a hand through long red hair. "Had you left without Aya's permission, you could have found him without a problem." He was suddenly behind Yohji, whispering into his ear. "That's what you thought, wasn't it?"

Yohji clenched his fists, knowing that any move he made would be broadcasted from his brain. "Where is he?" If only he could get to Omi's drawer... "Where did you take him?"

"Nowhere. He took himself." Schuldich answered, running his hands through Yohji's wet bangs. "He's looking for you after all. He shouldn't be hard to find." The German could feel the boy approaching, but he was still quite a ways off so his the thoughts weren't clear.

The blonde pulled away, sliding his hand into his pocket. "Alright," he began, "I want to find Omi and I know you want something. What is it?" The drawer was still out of reach, but Yohji dared not linger on the thought. It didn't seem as though Schuldich noticed, since he moved away from it to place himself on the computer chair.

Schuldich pulled his hands up over his head with a smile. "What do I want? Now there's a question. It's nothing much at all. I want the same thing as you." He winked a bright green eye. "I want to find your beloved 'Omittchi.'" It didn't seem right to Yohji at all. There had to be something behind it, but with Nagi missing Schwarz surely couldn't go on with their operation, could they? "So let's make a bargain. I'll help you find him if--"

"No." He interrupted, suddenly steadfast. He saw the anger begin to flow into short-tempered eyes. "Omi is none of your business!"

The German pulled himself from the chair to stare eye to nose with the incredibly tall Yohji Kudou. "The Kitten is plenty of my business." It was apparent now that Schuldich was short on time and wasn't about to make any pointless arguments. "He is trying to kill you, you know, so wouldn't it be better if we took him off your hands? We would forgive all of Weiß's sins once we're finished in exchange for your cooperation." Beneath deeply furrowed brows there creased a deep sneer. "Who cares what happens to him as long as all of your sins are paid for? As soon as you give the child to me, Schwarz will be out of your sight and so will your endless murders."

"I don't care what happens to me. I am his team-mate and I won't allow you to have him."

"So let him kill you. Chivalry will get you nowhere, Kudou. Turn your back on your allies and let him kill them, too, because that's what will happen." He pulled back to the window and spun to face Yohji once more, a smile now plastered on his face once more. "He's going to save you for last, Kudou. Your little Kitten's going to break you apart, piece by piece. He'll chain you up and take real good care of you. Nice and slow..."

The door flung open to reveal Omi, soaked to the bone with the darts at the ready, aimed at Yohji's back. He spun, green eyes scarcely comprehending the sight. Omi, who had only the week before promised an attempt to love him, now held poisoned darts ready to kill him at any moment. The cerulean eyes seemed filmed over and Yohji realised what it meant to be blinded by fury. Blonde brows furrowed deep into his brow and the man allowed his arms to go limp.

Omi tensed his grip on the darts, staring past Yohji and into his soul, searching for the movement of his heart. For a moment the man's heart caught in his throat and he fought to inhale. What those jade eyes beheld had barely enough time to catch, much less react.

Strong arms snaked around the boy's throat and abdomen, holding him tight. "Don't be sad, Kudou. I'm only protecting you." Then he saw Omi's brows furrow and he flipped one of the darts, stabbing Schuldich full in the wrist. The German threw up his arms, thus releasing the boy, to yank the poisoned tip from his oozing flesh. He bore it before slit eyes and gave a sadistic smile. "I'm proud of you, Kitten. I'll have to be weary of you in the future if you keep blocking your thoughts." Then he was gone, suddenly and silently, out the door or perhaps out an open window.

Omi fell to the ground, gasping for breath. He'd fought the entire time to slowly regain it, but after that last burst of adrenaline he'd reached his limit. He swallowed in great mouthfuls of air, clenching at the ground as he did so. Cerulean eyes lost the film now and he fell back on the ground to stare up at the ceiling, but only found a rather confused Yohji gazing back through gold-flecked green eyes.

Just as Omi pulled himself off the ground there was a loud slam, which caused the boy to pull up his darts once more. Then cue Aya, bursting through the door in a rage. Violet eyes fumed with his brows furrowed deep over them. His crimson hair was slightly mussed from his dash in the door and his jacket no longer hung closed around his frame. His jeans were soaked nearly up to the knee, but still he held himself tall and angry. He eyed Yohji for a second and let out a growl. "Do you two have any idea how lucky you are that someone didn't break in?"

Yohji then stood from his crouch and stepped out the door, ushering Aya along with him. Omi, however stood and padded to his beloved computer. For a moment he looked quizzically at the last few lines, but shrugged it off and deleted them. He then gave a few keystrokes and the document was saved and safe behind the wards. He slid into his chair with a sigh and thanked Kami, whether or not he was listening, for sparing Yohji his life.

* * *

The explanation was more than difficult for Aya to handle, it seemed, what with Yohji meeting with Nagi, Omi jumping from the car and Schuldich inside the apartment soon after. Then there were the things that didn't match up. Like the threat to Yohji scrawled on Omi's computer. Hadn't Omi run the entire way to keep him from being killed? The option of Yohji lying had already been dismissed long before. But still the older man insisted that he not bring up what he said with Omi.

Needless to say it seemed crazy. Still he nodded and agreed, much too tired to take more than this in one night. He still had the hope that nothing would happen to Ken to add to the stress. Of course, on any other occasion no harm would have been wanted to begin with for any of his teammates. Though after the initial explanation, Yohji went a bit too far.

"If Ken had been in the same situation, you can't say you wouldn't have gone after them, too."

At this point Aya's temper snapped, pushed over the line of an already stressful day. Though his voice didn't rise from any point than it did before, the words were harsh and very cold. "Ken's not a fool, Yohji. Fools don't have the right to be saved."

The blonde man furrowed his brows and gave a quirked smile to offset the anger beginning to burn beneath the pupils of his eyes. "So he's a fool for being raped? Aya, I thought you had more sense than that."

"He's a fool for leaving." He'd already turned to head for the door, but stopped when the older man called out to him again, only just enough to hear his words before closing the door behind him.

Yohji smiled and crossed his arms. "I guess that makes us all fools, doesn't it?" There was a click of the handle and the blonde turned to open the door of Omi's room. He peeked in, green eyes surveying the mess in the moments before the boy looked up. "I don't suppose you want to sleep in here, do you?" Omi shook his head tiredly. Truthfully, Yohji himself didn't feel comfortable having him sleep in the same bed where Schuldich had laid until he had searched it thoroughly for knives or the sort. He gave a mischievous smile. "Would you protect me from nightmares, then?"

Tired, cerulean eyes met his and the boy smiled. "Yeah," he replied, for lack of a better vocabulary and slinked to the older man's side to lean against him as they worked their way into Yohji's room to sleep the night's weariness away.

Spooned securely soon after, Omi could feel the skin of Yohji's bare chest against him and smiled, touched with the distant knowledge that Yohji had the courtesy to sleep in his pants that night. The boy himself fiddled with the sleeve of Yohji's cream sweater on his own body, suddenly aware of how safe he felt here in the older man's tired arms. "Yohji?" He muttered quietly. There was a grunt in reply. "G'night."

Yohji smiled and gave a small squeeze to Omi's waist. "G'night, Omittchi." He then planted a light kiss on the boy's wet head and drifted soundlessly to sleep.

* * *

Staring at the blackened ceiling, Ran couldn't help but feel just a bit guilty for the accusatory views that he had so easily spat out. If Ken had left… If Ken had been the one to run off… wouldn't he have gone out after him? Ran hoped that he would have. The very thought of his best friend running out into the night as Omi had and… A shiver traced down his spine and he rolled over. The clock on the kitchen microwave blinked 5:09 at him.

Ken had taken the bedroom, as was expected and Ran was glad that he'd been there, waiting to be picked up as he said he would be. There had been far too many scares and far too many foolish actions taken of late for him not to be worried. Ran was feeling the guilt of Omi's fate for keeping Yohji back, but if Omi had come home, the first person that needed to be there was him. Yohji, despite Ran's usual preachings, would take the best care of Omi that he could. The only thing that would keep Omi from the safety that they offered was his own foolishness and emotionally rash actions.

Had Omi and Ken remained close, like they had been before then there may have been less of a chance of something like this happening, but who would have thought, who would have believed that Schwarz was still alive and still thirsting for immortality? And why had they taken Omi when Ran himself would have been such an easy target? If virginity was the only requirement… Ran certainly fell under that category…

Since he'd been in High school, he'd been busy with taking care of his family, helping his father in the bank and making sure that Aya wasn't slouching in school. After the accident he'd taken into Weiß and not only stopped socializing, but become absolutely obsessed with working. The thought of going out and doing something was simply out of the question. He'd watched all of the drama that came along with relationships. Yohji's partner had been killed. He'd loved her, or so Ran had gathered. Ouka had also been killed and Omi had loved her as well and even then, later they'd found that she had first been his questionable sister and then his cousin. He'd watched the heartbreak and the repercussions of the events afterwards. Although he'd not been in the same house as the rest of them, Ken had been and had confided that both Omi and Yohji had often woken with nightmares, screaming out the names of those long lost loves.

Once Ran had Aya back, he'd moved into another apartment with connections to a lease shop downstairs. They'd opened up the café and with that, Ran hadn't had the time to adjust to the thought of a relationship and now that Omi had faced a fate that could very possibly have been his own, Ran had to wonder if Omi was a fool after all.

Everyone had been ignorant to Schwarz's survival, although it should have been obvious since without something… without an extra push that had to have been from Nagi, none of _them_ would have survived either. Since then Ran had gone off alone far more often than Omi had and in doing so _he_ had been making a foolish decision. He refused to carry his katana. Ever since his escape from the museum he'd not touched it, leaving it for Ken to pack when he'd moved. Now it lay propped in his closet, collecting a fine layer of dust beneath his jacket, the surest sign of his own foolishness.

They had all be surrounded by the false sense of security and lulled to sleep by it night by night, but Ran could feel the cruel world reaching out to him and trying to pull him back into the darkness and block the light of all things dear to him. Weiß Kreuz. The white cross. It symbolized everything important to them and remained the standing line of hope. In an almost ironic way, Weiß had kept them in the light by sheltering them in the darkness and although they had been reintroduced to the day, the sun would be far too bright for them to handle without shielded eyes.

And if that was what had to be done, Ran, himself would shield Ken's eyes just as Yohji did for Omi. He could almost feel himself rising to protect him, rising to protect everything he loved. As he was slowly slipping into sleep, he turned towards the back of the couch and whispered to no one in particular, "I will defend my white cross…"

* * *

"I'm going to go up and try to wake up Aya, alright?" Ken called as he pulled off the green apron tied around his waist and made his way to climb up the stairs, a cup of coffee in his hand. There was a wordless confirmation from Aya-chan from behind the counter, but Ken didn't give into the urge to respond. It wouldn't be the best way to wake Aya up from one of the few deep sleeps he'd managed in a long time. He softly made his way to the couch, making just enough sound not to create the uneasy silence that would surely wake the red-haired man curled up so innocently towards the cushions.

It wasn't that Aya looked young when he was asleep, as many people would think, since there is a belief that the sternest people look the most innocent in their sleep, but there was always a simple serenity in the unusual relaxation in Aya's stature. The same man, while awake, would be stiff, formal and cool to just about anyone… or at least, that's how things had been before Aya-chan had woken up… but always when he slept those furrowed eyebrows would lift and the stern line of lips would soften and part slightly as all of the tension of his muscles would just seem to flow out of him in that final sigh before sleep.

Ken always hated having to wake him since Aya was so often awake so late giving him a ride to and from work. There was a certain guilt that came along with causing his leader's forced insomnia, but the fact remained that it was nearing noon and Aya-chan had started to get a bit nervous… no, more of she'd become anxious, restless and even a bit pushy… to get her break and what with Ken not actually being a worker, he couldn't take on care of the shop on his own for very long.

So he slid up to the couch and sat on the coffee table in front of it, holding the mug in between his fingers, tracing the design of the lucky cat on the front with his thumb. For a moment, Ken just watched Aya breathing, chest clenching as a reminder that he would never see this upon waking. He shook off the melancholy and bent forward slightly towards the red-haired man. "Aya…" He called quietly, not wanting to suddenly rouse the man (who would have been very grumpy if he had). "Aya, it's time for you to wake up." The man shifted slightly in response to the voice, but didn't turn over. Ken smiled. "Aya, come on, it's well past morning."

Aya shifted slightly to look over his shoulder with a single lavender eye and curled up closer to the couch. "Nn… I don't care…"

Chuckling to himself, Ken set the coffee down on the table beside him. "Your sister wants to take her break sometime during her shift. She's starting to get pretty sore about your laziness, she says."

"So she should go back to bed," the distantly awake man replied, pulling the blanket over his head.

This had gotten to be almost like a routine. Aya, amazingly enough, had never been one to be able to easily wake up from a deep sleep in any way that would keep him in a positive mood. Aya could be called a finicky sleeper, if the term made more than a little sense. Ken grabbed the corner of the cover and pulled it off of the man, who groped to find it before rolling over to sit up and glare sleepily at the soccer player. "I'm serious, Aya. It's almost noon. You should get up, you know. She and I opened shop for you while you were sleeping."

"That's right," A stern female voice piped in, a glare no less severe than Aya's own met those cold violet eyes. "And now that I'm on break, I wanted to take the time to tell you that you'll have to close for me because of it, Ran." The elder of the two sighed and hung his head in his hands, still fighting to wake up.

Ken lifted the mug of coffee. "Here, I figured that you'd need this before the afternoon rush." Without looking up, Aya took the cup and took a long drink, not bothering to flinch when it burned his tongue. "If you want, I'll look after the shop while you get ready, but I'm going to have to walk down to the park by five." Standing, the chocolate-haired man exhaled. "Don't worry, I'll be sure Aya-chan doesn't give you too much of a hard time, but I don't think I'll be able to get you out of closing."

"Don't worry about it," Aya moaned, looking up slightly and working his tired eyes into a more easeful motion. "I deserve it for sleeping in. I'll try not to take too long, okay?"

With a smile and a slight nod, Ken retreated back down the stairs, leaving Aya alone in the living room. The red-haired man took another long drink of the coffee and stood, suddenly glad that he'd taken a shower the night before, despite the time of morning he'd gotten in. Aya shrugged his shoulders and rolled his head around to loosen the muscles tightened by the slightly rough couch. "Nothing more to do than get ready…" he muttered, heading towards his bedroom.

He slid the door to his closet open and eyed the clothing with distaste. It was laundry day and the only thing left in the closet besides his trench was a white turtleneck that he usually avoided wearing. He didn't have much of a choice at the moment, so he reluctantly slid it over his head after removing his pyjamas and squeezed into a pair of worn jeans. Next came the mismatched white socks that Aya-chan had lazily thrown onto the dresser, followed by the pair of hiking boots that he'd taken to wearing in the shop. With a quick glance in the mirror and a comb through his hair, Aya headed to the bathroom to wash up.

* * *

Ken leaned with his back on the counter, lazily staring at the lines of coffee cups and seemingly endless flavours. It still came as a surprise to him that Aya had saved up enough money while in Weiß to fund a shop like this. It must've been the amazingly warm service and wide selection that kept this place running… and running rather smoothly, even though Aya and his sister were the only two permanent workers. How he'd managed to be so kind to strangers, Ken never knew. It must've been one of those slight quirks in his leaders personality that Ken had never seen before or perhaps…

"Things have changed, haven't they?" Ken asked quietly, turning to face his red-haired companion after he received no obvious response.

Aya, putting away a fresh bundle of stirring rods, didn't look up. "What do you mean?"

Shrugging, Ken turned to lean on one elbow against the same black counter top. "I don't know. You seem so much more… warm, I guess." When Aya gave him a cool askance glare, Ken shook his head. "Not like that, I mean that you don't push people away so much as you used to. You're not so closed off from the rest of the world and now…" He gestured to the shop, to the benches and stools and to the homey lights hanging from the ceiling, "Look at what it's done for you."

For a moment, Aya slowed. "This is something that I did with the money that I used to kill people with, Ken. It's not something I like to cherish."

"But you do, Aya. You know you do." He sighed. "Everything you've done, you did with pure intentions, even if it never seemed like it. You joined Weiß for your sister. To take care of her and to make sure that she got what she deserved for her pain." Ken smiled a bit, staring out into the street, watching the people go by the empty shop. "You did it all to see her smile. I'd call that dedication, Aya. Honourable dedication. Sure the course you took was a bit rough and dirty, but you've turned everything into something good, something worthwhile."

Aya remained silent for a while, putting away the stirring rods before turning to the straws. "You say these things as though you haven't done something good with it all."

Sighing, Ken ran a hand through his hair. "You know, sometimes I wonder. I had every reason to leave Weiß after Kase… but I didn't. I kept fighting without a reason and doing what we did without a righteous purpose… well, don't we call that murder, Aya? Isn't that the very thing that we were fighting against?"

"You had every reason to leave," Aya repeated, "but you stayed for some reason. A gut feeling. I really don't know why you stayed, either… but I do know that if you hadn't, Weiß would never be as quiet as it is now. We never would have made it this far and… I never would have been able to see Aya's smile." For the first time since Ken had started the conversation, Aya turned to face him. "And for that, I thank you. But you have to remember that I'm not the only one you've helped. Think about all of the kids in your league. _You_ teach _them_ what dedication is all about and you give them something to strive for." The barest shadow of a smile crossed Aya's face. "You can't keep bothering yourself for something that can't be helped."

Ken raised his eyebrow slowly after rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Listen to your own advice sometime, Aya. Maybe it'll help out someday." He lifted the apron off of him and folded it carefully before placing it on the peg where he'd gotten it. "I've got to go. Our match will be starting pretty soon and I need to get there for warm up."

"Alright, then. I'll see you later." He paused as the younger man was walking out the door. "Hey, Ken," he called, "be careful." Ken smiled and nodded before letting the door close, the bell ringing as it was hit. Aya sighed and leaned back against the counter. It was about time to start closing.

He stepped behind the counter and pulled open the register to count the money, flipping the paper money through his fingers and depositing the coins into their own wraps before he deposited it all into the safe beneath the counter.

The bell on the door rang and for a moment, Aya expected it to be Ken, but the figure sauntering in was certainly far too tall to be the soccer player. "Hello, may I help you?"

Tracing tapered fingers along the counter, the man looked up at the menu on the wall. "Yes, I think I'll have the double shot espresso…" The voice struck a very sensitive nerve in the back of Aya's neck at the junction to his head. The almost nasal purring pulled at his ears and sent his stomach plunging with the heavy mix of fear, hatred and anxiety.

He grit his teeth together, hard lavender eyes meeting lazy jade and piercing as hard as he could into that gaze in a feeble attempt to break past those infallible mental walls. Ken was still outside and there was no way to warn him and with Aya-chan just upstairs, Aya could hardly raise his voice or get his Katana in time… Not with those searching green cat eyes probing into his mind. He bared his teeth, harshly whispering, "Schwarz…"

It seemed that Weiß wouldn't be moving so slowly anymore.


	3. Rising Ambition

Cigarette Juice Box

chapter 3: Rising Ambition

WARNING! Probable angst.

* * *

"Come now," The German pouted. "We were having such a nice conversation. We should talk outside of our titles." The pout vanished to reveal a homely grin and he extended his hand. "I'm Schuldich, let's start over."

For a moment Ran considered, he wanted to get a few answers about Omi's incident with him, but he supposed that it would be treading past the already made barriers. He narrowed his eyes at the man as though saying that he still didn't trust him, but he placed a long, callused hand into the older man's and Schuldich smiled. "Could I have my drink?"

Ran made a face, but turned back to the workstation and prepared the double shot as quickly as possible. He still didn't trust the German enough to leave himself open for too long. He handed Schuldich the cup and ran his eyes along the garb that had made him pass the man off as a customer.

The German had pulled back his hair into a casual ponytail and was clad simply in a plaid green shirt, which accented his eyes, over a black tank top and slightly tight black jeans. It was so different from his normal garb that it seemed as though he was a completely different person. Though, perhaps, on the streets he'd look a bit out of place. Schuldich nodded to a table and Ran exited the register space to follow.

The booth was by a window, proving that Schuldich didn't mean to try anything. The way things went, if Schuldich had planned to make a move, he would have chosen one of the tables further back. In this, Schuldich had decided, if anyone said something to aggravate the Weiß boy, he'd have to be the one foolish enough to make a move in full view of Tokyo. Right now, all Schuldich wanted was a nice conversation that would give both sides answers.

Ran began soon after he sat down. He leaned over the table to speak so quietly that no one could hear. "Schuldich, what's all of this about?"

"Nothing, just a talk between rivals is all. Exchange answers." He lounged casually over his end of the booth, much like a lazy tomcat. The sleeve of his shirt lifted just enough to reveal the linen wrap around it where Ran guessed Omi had stabbed him. /You know, we don't have to talk out loud if you don't want to. I can hear you loud and clear./ He lifted the cup to his lips and drew in a long drink of the stuff and felt it burn down his throat. He almost shivered with pleasure.

The younger man leaned back and crossed his arms, lavender eyes staring holes into the German, though he hardly noticed. _Well then, tell me why you decided to come after us again_. It was an obvious question, it seemed to Ran. They came after Weiß because they wanted revenge for taking their immortality.

/Wrong answer/ Schuldich began /We came after your youngest, Omi. We gave the excuse of revenge, but it all has to do with his birthday./ He ran a long hand through copper bangs. /We're trying to make up for last time when you all took our immortality. Though, I don't blame you./ He smiled. /You're sister's too cute to go for such a dreadful thing, right? So we needed someone born on a leap year to fulfill another prophesy so that we might gain our goal without having to wake the devil. After the incident last time, Brad…/ Schuldich paused, noting the uncomfortable look the crimson-haired man gave him with such casual mentioning of his leader. /Crawford decided that risking each other's lives to be selfish was pointless when we, ourselves, could work together to gain the same goal./

"That's how it works in a team..." Ran muttered under his breath. "You have to work as a unit to accomplish anything." _I found that out the hard way_... he thought, trying not to make it too obvious to Schuldich. Too bad the man overheard with a chuckle.

/My turn, Fujimiya. Why did you continue with your missions even though Persia had been killed/ He waited silently for an answer and sipped on the espresso again.

Ran hesitated a moment, not quite sure why the rest of the team had continued. _Well, I did it because of my sister. I wasn't going to leave her with all of you. It's a good thing that we kept on, though. Had we not, we surely would have faced something much more drastic than what's been going on here. As for the rest of Weiß, I'm not sure whether they followed because of me or because they had their own reasons. Yohji, I suppose went for Asuka, no, Neu. Omi to avenge his father's death and Ken, well, I'm not sure why he came. He didn't have to since his reason in Weiß had long been fulfilled. As a whole, I would say that they followed because they felt they needed to or they wanted to hold out until the end. How were any of us supposed to know that it would continue? We haven't received any major orders in a while, so we continue our cover until we're called again_.

_A true sign of loyalty_... _They really were Persia's dogs._ the German thought to himself, making doubly sure the opposing man didn't overhear. /It's your turn, shoot./

Ran pondered a moment, trying to think of a question suitable for this chance. He tapped his finger on his elbow and projected. _Yohji said he was trying to contact the one you call Nagi. He said that there was no reply and he never showed up. I've always found you quite punctual_. He pulled a toothpick from the dispenser and chewed thoughtfully on it. _What happened to him?_

Schuldich's cover didn't waver, but again the pang in his chest came at the mention of the mysterious dark-haired boy. /To tell you the truth no one knows. He was at the park with us on the twenty-ninth, but after that he never came home. We haven't gotten orders to look for him, though. Something must've happened to him, but I suppose it wasn't your fault if you don't know either./ Apparently his next question had been given away at the mention of Ran's own.

"So he could be out looking for Omi at this very moment to finish what you started?"

The older man held up a finger. "Stick to the rules; one question per round." He watched Ran slide deeper into his seat and he gave the younger boy a slight smile. /What do you see that makes Weiß right and Schwarz wrong/ It was a simple, straight forward question, but very difficult. It would be a hard pill to swallow, but he knew that some doubt had to be planted or else no progress would be made.

For a moment Ran blinked lavender eyes, but soon stiffened up. The thought 'because you're evil' lingered on his brain, but it was the loudest of many jumbled reasons. Finally he came to a decent conclusion. _Because you have too many wrong reasons for the actions you're taking_. _You want immortality to get back at the world, but the entire world wouldn't treat you the way you were previously. In fact you could pass for anyone else on the street if you tried. I wanted to get back at the world for taking my sister from me. The world took my parents and the entire life I had, as I knew it, but people still accepted me even though I'm bitter. Omi lost his memory a short while after he was kidnapped and left for dirt. Still, after he faced the memories and the confusion that came with it, he continued to smile the same smile he always had_.

_Then there's Yohji. He was a police officer, a detective for many gruesome crimes and he was forced to watch his partner die. My guess is that we found our happiness amidst the hatred of the evil people and we fight to protect the innocents from facing the same fate as ourselves_.

Still, Ran continued, determined to complete his explanation thoroughly, _Those whose family members we murder face the same fate as we did. So in a way, we are no better. But I do know that the entire world shouldn't have to pay for one person's mistake_. _So Weiß protects the people who can't protect themselves from the dangerous people rather than make them pay for our pain._

Schuldich nodded, now beginning to understand Weiß's thinking. Everything was about revenge, in a way. However instead of fighting the people who hurt them, they protected them. It didn't quite fit, but Schuldich could almost understand. Such a concept would be almost unexplainable to Farfarello or Brad, but the German was quite down to earth when it came to revenge. After all, he'd been looking for it for almost a decade. In his mind, the mind that could seek the deepest darkest secrets of man, he saw that the entire world was as dirty and greedy as those who had degraded him in the past. He'd faced it all his life. The groping hands and shoving of money continued as he stood on the corner, fighting to stay alive day by day. The human race was, indeed, filthy.

"Yohji said that he read something peculiar on Omi's computer right before you showed up." He had almost lost his hatred for Schuldich and was only now blindly groping for the answers he'd been looking for. "He said that you were forceful in telling him that Omi was trying to kill him."

Schuldich stood, with a smile, and took the espresso in one hand. "Just between you and me, who's to say that he isn't keeping it well under wraps? Get as close as you can," the man started as he pulled down his sunglasses, "then take what it is you want. That's all for tonight, Aya. I don't want to exhaust you with too many answers. I'll show up tomorrow and have another chat with you, if it's permitted. Or maybe I'll just get a cappuccino." His voice faded out as he exited, a cold wind blowing in and ringing the store bell. It was now completely dark and Schuldich's form was just barely visible as he passed the window.

Ran shook his head, desperate now for answers. After a moment's hesitation he strode out the door, pulling on his scarf and jacket as he went to follow Schuldich home. Puddles lined the streets, but the rising moon gave plenty light to see by. Stars hung bright in the clear sky. How strange it would have been to Omi if he'd left the house again on this night in comparison to the last. Deep blue mirrored the fading city lights as Ran followed behind the German, just close enough to make out his bright copper hair.

* * *

The cafe was far behind them. Ran's boots still continued to strike the ground without any audible sound. The only approaching buildings seemed run down, at times crumbling. Schuldich was leading him into the slums? It was a horrible place full of crime and drug smuggling. Ran wasn't uncomfortable, merely wishing to grip his katana sturdily in his callused palm.

Residential area... Ran mused to himself with a weary glance to the mothers leaning out windows to call in their wandering children. _It's not safe to be out at night. Not here_. Still he continued on, evading the sounds the unavoidable puddles provided as he sloshed through their high depths. This place was a mess. Roofs slid in pieces from the building tops, surrounded by tall structures long abandoned. To think this had to have once been the bustle of Tokyo. Ran imagined the ghostly people wandering up and down the streets on the way to work where now there only remained clumps of people at the corners, moving together from streetlight to streetlight. How sad an area it had become. For just a moment he caught a glimpse of a house reduced to ashes on the ground and could only think of the explosion that must have caused it. He could feel his heart sink when he passed with the grim knowledge that the very same had happened to his family. Ran could almost hear the laughing of his sister and parents standing outside mere moments before the screams flooded in with angry heat. Two images, but only one had reality to back it up. Two... Ran bit his lip, fighting away the tears. Two parents... two bodies slaughtered on the ground... The boy shook himself.

All of that was behind him now. The man pulled his attention back to the task at hand. He needed answers, yearned for them. Weiß had become his family and though he would never admit it, he was nearly as fond of Omi as he was his own sister. _Because of this_, Ran decided_, I have to help him in any way I can. No one hurts my family without getting their just deserves_. Schuldich had turned a corner into a small alleyway in between the tall, teetering structures. Ran hesitated, but followed all the same. Again he wished for his katana, but pushed the thought away. Schuldich wouldn't dare go against his word. Not with Weiß.

He rounded the corner to find himself face to face with the German. He casually lounged against the wall straight ahead. Not only had Ran been led directly into an alley, but into a dead end. He kept his composure, but it did seem horribly uncanny that Schuldich would be so comfortable in his surroundings. The older man gave a deep-throated laugh and Ran almost jumped, forgetting the probes flitting lightly around the confines of his brain. "Well," The German began, "I suppose it's only fair that I let you know about me, seeing as how I have direct access to anything I want to know about you." He tapped a long finger on his brow and suddenly became stern. "You see, I was born on a German air base a long time ago. My father was the son of a World War Two fighter and so was very insistent that he prove that he was as prodigious. He was a fighter pilot, but was never sent out on any secretive missions. He never had the chance to prove his worth. So he decided to marry and have a child." He closed his eyes and crossed his arms, continuing. "Shortly after my fifth birthday we went for a drive. The car we'd been driving in had a gas leak and while I went to get a drink from the gas station..."

Schuldich pushed himself away from the wall, arms remaining firmly crossed on his chest. "They didn't survive and I was presumed to be dead." He explained as he circled around Ran to gaze at the sky above. "So I wandered the streets, begging for food or money. Many times I had to resort to stealing. By the time I was fourteen I was found by a company called Estet." Recognition sparked in Ran's violet eyes, but Schuldich didn't notice. "They promised me a job and I accepted. At first everything was okay. They put me through tests under certain stimuli, had me find my way through mazes just like a rat. Then they took it a bit further, testing the organs of my body. Mainly they focused on different chemical reactions in my brain. Estet was soon taken over by a private club. They were the final group to fund any of the experiments and so they pushed the scientists to go even further."

Jade eyes seemed passive as they returned to meet Ran's. "They inserted a test solution into my blood and as it worked its way to my brain, I could hear more, feel more. Back then I didn't understand that I wasn't really hearing or feeling. It was a completely different sense together. At first it drove me crazy to the point that I would be screaming at people, holding knives to them in an effort to escape the voices. They put me in their private psychiatric ward and stuck me in a straight jacket, calling me a 'failed experiment.'" He grinned for just a moment before going on. "Little did they know that an experiment doesn't just die even after a conclusion is made. I had no use of my hands, no use of my body whatsoever. All I had was my brain and the constant screaming of the people around me. I learned to block it, filter it. Only then did I discover what had happened. I had been forced into unlocking another sense: telepathy. I requested more tests on it, seeing as how I had almost made a 'full recovery' and after my hypothesis was proven, I was introduced to a man named Brad Crawford. That's when Schwarz began to form. First with Brad, then myself, then Farfarello and finally Nagi. Within four years we began extensive training and became what you see today."

Ran blinked and shook his head. It didn't seem quite right. There was something else that he wasn't telling. "You didn't follow orders, though, did you? You had your own plans."

"Of course we did, Aya." Schuldich chuckled in reply. "Everyone has their plans. No one wants to be a dog on a leash the rest of his life. People made us suffer more than you know. Day after day we were humiliated, called freaks and degraded until almost all hope had been lost. The human race is truly disgusting. All their dirty thoughts and blood thirsty actions. All the human race wants is to beat the rest down so that they won't have competition. They want to see others hurt and suffer so they can feel good enough about themselves to move on. But the people they walk on don't move on. Either they die, or they become like us."

_Revenge_... Ran thought distantly, drawn back to what Yohji had said the night of Omi's rape. _They want revenge on the human race for hurting them, but many of them are innocent. It's not right... If they want revenge, don't involve innocent people. Don't bring them into it... but then... what about the immortality_... Ran wondered, the next puzzle piece falling out of place.

"The immortality?" Schuldich smiled a bit, almost ready to get to the point of this meeting. "We must be around to see that the human race gets their just deserves. You're no different, Aya. You killed the entire Takatori line except your precious 'Omi.' We're just an exaggeration of Weiß, right? If so, then we want to see the whole world suffer. Every one of them wants to beat us down and suppress us because we're a threat. Every time a child is born, they will think the same thing. Every person of your race provides only filth in a world ready to be purged. We, Schwarz, are Gott's left hand." With this final statement he held out his own hand and clenched the fingers together then allowed it to fall casually at his side.

Ran shook his head once more, insistent to make his point. "Just because a person thinks something doesn't mean they'll act on it. Things are determined by emotions. Anger and hate will create negative thoughts, but not every person in the world reserves the right to act on them."

Jade eyes remained fixed, but Schuldich sent out the string-like probes, searching for something just beyond the walls. /Farfarello... Damn it, Farfarello, get over here./ There was no reply and Schuldich glanced to the corner only to find emptiness where a silhouette should have been.

"I can't allow you to take the lives of virtuous people!" Ran moved to grab at his katana and two thoughts struck him. The first that he'd left his weapon back at the cafe and the second that his arms wouldn't move. He strained against himself, not able to move anything more than his head. "What's this?" He growled, gnashing his teeth together violently. "We had a deal, Schuldich!"

The younger boy caught Schuldich's attention once more and the German eyed him curiously. Ran couldn't move. _Well_, he thought to himself, _may as well use it to my advantage_. He cast the boy a devilish smile. "We had a deal back at the cafe. It didn't include any continuations. It looks as though you ran into a few dirty circumstances." He reached out again with his probes, only searching for Farfarello's mind. /Damn it, wake up. You're slacking Farfarello/

Another voice called out in reply, calm and cool. It would have been innocent, tenor and light, had it not been for the bitterness hanging heavy in the undercurrent. It was timid, but less so than the last time Schuldich had heard it. _Farfarello's a bit busy at the moment_. Schuldich's heart fluttered and his smile widened, however he was beaming inside his mind. The small, lean form approached. Nagi's dark brown hair glossy beneath the moon, almost a perfect sculpture of the night's angel. The familiar pout peeked over the top of a white scarf. "It seems as though your happiness has made you daft, Weiß."

* * *

Omi swiftly picked up the phone by his bed, awoken by its persistent ringing. He grunted, then answered. "This is where the cat lives..." His voice was groggy, slurring the words together sloppily. He blinked a few times to clear the sleep from his cerulean eyes. "No, Aya-chan, I haven't seen him, why?" Omi's eyes widened and he jumped from the bed, searching his still untidy room for a pair of pants and a shirt. "Are you sure?" Nothing made much sense right now. Everything still flowed like a dream, but even still Omi pulled on his jeans over his boxers and rushed out into the hallway, chest still bare. "Alright, I'm just about to get Ken up. We'll go out and look for him in Yohji's car, okay? Alright. I'll have my cell phone if you need me. Jaa." He pushed the button soundly on the phone then tossed it aside, storming into Ken's room.

"Ken, get up." He announced, voice wavering in worry.

The older boy sat up suddenly, soon relaxing. He rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn. "Why Omi? It's still night. Just go back to sleep, okay?" He began leaning back, only to be stopped by a sudden burst of "No!" from Omi's mouth. Ken's brows furrowed. Usually Omi wasn't so impolite, but still the older boy nodded and slid from beneath the covers, his blue flannel pyjamas wrinkled and mussed. "Alright, I'm up. What is it?"

Omi glanced at his watch: 3:33 AM. "Aya's gone missing."

It seemed that immediately Ken was awake, throwing on his old uniform. His jeans were still worn from a year ago, and they fit him snugly. He threw off his shirt only to replace it with a v-neck black one. Over it he pulled the brown leather jacket and pushed up the sleeves. "Omi," He began as he dug through his drawer for the bugnucks, "You should put on something dark. If Schwarz is out again, at least we'll be somewhat ready for them." He slid on the gloves then the device onto his right hand. Omi nodded and rushed off down the hallway.

Everything was in a blur, Omi threw off the sand-blasted jeans and went directly for his shorts, only to realize the time of year and his new found hatred for the cold. Instead he pulled on a pair of relaxed polyester pants, then pulled on his black sweater and both jackets. The white one went on first, as always. He loaded it to maximum capacity with poisoned darts and knives, then he pulled the black one over it. His red and white sneakers had been almost completely worn out from day to day use. Omi almost cursed, sifting through his closet, unable to find any others with decent traction. Finally he came across his old gym shoes and pulled them on over his socks. Quickly he grabbed his bandanna and goggles and sped out to Yohji's car where Ken sat waiting anxiously.

Omi jumped in not bothering to open the door, the action made possible by the vehicle's lack of roof. "Where do we start?" He asked and Ken screeched out of the parking lot. The younger boy jumped and pulled on his seat belt, realising now how frantic his companion was. "We didn't have time to look anything up or do any research."

"I know, Omi. All we have is that Aya's missing and Schwarz is on the streets. Both problems spell trouble." He swerved around the corner, heading for the cafe. "We'll pick up his katana from Aya-chan and go from there."

The younger boy could only nod, dumbfounded by Ken's ferocity. He jolted forward when the car suddenly jerked to a stop. Ken left the keys in the ignition and jumped out, running full speed to the door. He pulled it open and disappeared through it. Omi took this time to pull on his skullcap and goggles. It was clear, Omi noticed. Much unlike the way it had been last he saw Aya. Only a day ago it had been storming, now the stars shone as bright as possible through the light pollution of Tokyo residential. That was as good as it could get for a tracking mission, even without any information. Yohji was still sleeping, Omi bet with himself. That was also good. Then he wouldn't worry when he woke up. Omi would be there, no harm done... unless there was harm done to Aya.

Ken jumped into the car, throwing the katana to Omi who caught it and slid it onto his lap. He revved the engine and sped down the road, paying no regard to stop signs or traffic lights. "He took his coat." The younger boy glanced up, cerulean eyes a bit confused. "Aya took his coat so he left willingly. The question is where."

The blonde slouched in the seat, gripping the sheathed Katana to his chest. _What would Schwarz want with Aya? They've already started the ritual with me, they don't need anyone else do they?_ He bit his lip and glanced over the side of the car, catching a glimpse of red hair. He jumped. "Ken! Turn here!"

"What, why? Do you see him?"

"I saw Schuldich!" He replied, pointing to the left. With no more than a glance, Ken hung a sharp corner, heading to an alleyway deep in the slums. Once in the back street Omi uneasily opened the door and set out on the pavement. He ran his hand along the wall, cerulean eyes glancing to and from the corners where shadows shifted against Ken and himself. The boy relaxed with no sight of anyone. Maybe it had been his nerves acting against him. Then he caught a glimpse of a small slip of paper lying white against the ground.

Apparently Ken had seen it at just the same time and headed anxiously towards it. He picked it up and Omi could see his muscles clench against it, wrinkling the fibres. He slowly approached, reading the messy symbols splayed across the page. "The games begin. The prize: your Queen Bee."

Omi's shoulders slumped and he clenched the katana in his hand. He felt helpless, unable to do anything at this moment. Schuldich had turned this into a game and Omi was reluctant to play. More than anything, he wanted Aya back, but there were no clues, nothing to go by. He shook his head, resolve glowing deep in those cerulean depths. "No. I'm not going to play."

"What other choice do we have?" Ken spat. "This is sick."

Omi thought a second. "No," he began, brows furrowing deeply, "this is war." He reached for the paper and flipped it over in his hands. His suspicions proved correct, neater symbols inscribed on the page. No one could write this perfectly except the one native of Schwarz: Nagi Naoe. Omi glanced at the pattern. "It's a riddle." He read it through carefully twice and shook his head. "I can't figure it out."

The older boy grabbed it and then he, too shook his head. "Neither can I." Ken thought a moment, brows furrowed deep above brown eyes. "We should go talk to Aya-chan about it. She'll probably know more about it than Yohji."

Omi climbed into the car, muttering. "That is unless Aya's told Yohji all about his past..."

The drive was much less jerky, but took much longer. Omi hadn't really realized how fast they'd been traveling to reach such a distance in only a few minutes. It had to have taken Aya about two hours to get that far at a walk. After a quick call to Aya-chan they had set off, telling her that they'd be over in only a bit. It took about fifteen minutes to get back to the cafe, but as they climbed out they were met by confused brown eyes. Ken placed a hand on her shoulder and headed inside, moving past the shop upstairs to the kitchen. Omi followed, gentle hand placed on Aya-chan's back for moral support.

* * *

Once they were in the kitchen Omi slid into one of the wooden chairs scattered around the table. Neither one of the Fujimiyas took much care of the kitchen. Usually they would meet for breakfast and be on their way and so, often times the kitchen would appear to be in total disarray. Ken turned his chair backwards and handed the slip of paper to Aya-chan whose brows creased in confusion. She lifted herself onto the counter where she sat cross-legged, looking at the two men at the table. "I don't understand. What's all this about?"

Ken sighed. "Well, you remember when you woke up?" the man began. Aya-chan nodded. "I'm sure Manx told you about everything that had happened: Schwarz and ourselves, to all appearances, dead. Well, Schwarz is hardly dead in the least. They're very living and very angry. They found another way to become immortal."

"That's not the point," Omi interrupted, casting Ken an upset glance. The boy definitely didn't want to worry Aya-chan about such details as himself. "The point is that they kidnapped Aya and want to play a sick game for us to get him back. More than likely it's going to be for a price."

The older man nodded in agreement. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "My guess is that it's a price none of us want to pay. Especially if it has to do with their quest for revenge."

Aya-chan looked back to the paper. "So this is a riddle, then? They're putting you on a scavenger hunt to find Ran?" There were two distinct nods and she sighed, flipping her braids behind her. "Well then," Aya-chan began, "It looks as though they're using things about his past as clues. The first line "Mother's resting bed" would most likely have to do with the cemetery or the people who made our mother's casket. I can't help you when it comes to the company, but my best guess would be the cemetery."

"What about the second line?" Omi questioned. "That was what I got confused on. The numbers don't seem to have anything to do with a cemetery. That is unless they want us to dial the number when we get there."

Ken nodded. "It could be. It had the same number of digits, didn't it? Well, couldn't we call it now?"

The girl across from him shook her head. "No, see? This is our old phone number. Maybe they set something up with the government?"

Omi propped his head up on his hands and chewed on his lip a bit. Ken rubbed his eyes. "Maybe they're setting places for meetings." He crossed his arms with a yawn.

The younger boy perked up. "Aya-chan, do you have a map?"

Moments later they sat around the table, crinkled map spread out before them. Omi held a highlighter in one hand, marking the points, and a compass in the other. "Well, if this is the cemetery and this is where your house used to be... what's the next clue?" Omi asked Ken, who had taken charge of the piece of paper. Aya-chan had decided to rustle around the kitchen and make some tea to calm all of them down.

Ken followed his finger to the third line. "The point where the sun meets the horizon."

The girl pulled out a set of tea cups. "Well we once went to the Ocean and saw an abandoned lighthouse. From the shore it sat right on the horizon and when it set, the light reflected off of the lighthouse." She placed the cups on the table, looking at the map. "But with that it could be a bunch of things. It could either be the shore or the light. Either that or it could be the dock between."

Omi pulled the highlighter open with his teeth and hovered around the shoreline. "Where was the lighthouse?" The girl thought a moment and pointed to a small island, barely a speck on the map. "Let's say that that's the point, since it's where the sun reflected from." The girl nodded and moved away to tend the boiling water. "What about the fourth clue?"

"A summer retreat, A winter defeat." Ken replied, scratching his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would someone go to a place where they would be in danger?"

Aya-chan placed a hand on her hip in thought. "Well, in the summer everything's hot. In the winter the snows and wind come. Maybe it's someplace where the snow would be dangerous in the winter, but not be in the summer."

Ken shook his head. "Like where? Usually the snow doesn't pile up that high anywhere here."

"Hey, Ken. Do you remember that time that we rented the cabin on Mount Fuji? There was snow, but not too much since it was in the summer. We could still ski and snow board, but not be in much danger." Omi explained.

The girl nodded, resuming her routine. She poured some tealeaves into the water. "There was one time when Ran and I were really little that we went on a trip to Mount Fuji. We only stayed at the base, though. It was winter and we couldn't go up because of the avalanches."

Ken perked up. "That's right! But Aya tried to go up anyway, but rolled all the way down." He smiled, laughter flickering dangerously in his eyes. Ran's sister laughed and smiled. "He told me the story a while ago." Ken explained. "I can't believe I had forgotten."

"So let's say the next point is Mount Fuji." Omi said, marking another spot on the map. "Then what?"

The other boy accepted the tea from Aya-chan eagerly and sipped at it. "It says 'Centre the pendulum and climb into the dragon's den.' So I guess we found all the clues."

Aya-chan handed Omi his cup and shook her head. "No, it looks like there's another part to it. 'Centre the pendulum' it says, but what pendulum do they mean? I know that they want us to find the centre point of all the clues, but the pendulum doesn't make much sense."

Omi sipped at his tea and shrugged. "I think we're meant to understand that when we get there." He explained and traced the points with the device. He followed the line with wondering eyes, but the centre point rested somewhere very familiar. He swallowed. "Ken... that's..."

"The sunken museum..." The two said in unison. Omi continued. "But as far as we know it's completely gone. Everything's under the surface. How could they be keeping him there?"

The older boy leaned over the map. "Maybe it's a mistake." He eyed Omi nervously as he shook his head. "We can't make it down there. We almost died once before. Besides, if Schwarz can get in, they must know their way around down there. We wouldn't stand a chance."

Aya-chan's brown eyes burned angrily now. "Don't tell me you're going to give up. My brother's down there and so help me if you don't care enough about him to do it, I'm going myself. If he could risk his life to keep me safe, then I can sure as well do it for him."

Ken stood, staring down at her accusingly. "Don't you dare tell me that I don't care about Aya. You don't have any idea what we had to go through on those missions. Don't you dare tell me that I don't care enough." He allowed his shoulders to slump and he tore away from Aya-chan's strong glare. It was so much like Aya's own that Ken could hardly stand to look at it. "I have had to keep him from dying on plenty occasions. I've risked my life for him far too often to be told that I don't care enough."

"Good," The girl replied, "Then I won't be going alone."

This made Omi jump from his seat. "What are you talking about? You can't go. It's far too dangerous for you."

Aya-chan crossed her arms. "And why not? What about all of you? Don't you think it's a bit too dangerous for you as well? He is my brother after all, I should have the right to help save him."

Ken leaned forward to look at Aya-chan once more. "Yeah, but he would kill us if you ever went with us. You don't understand what kind of hell he had to go through to get you back." He pulled away at her glare once more and sighed. "Either way, no one can go after anyone tonight. It's been a long, hard day... and besides Yohji, everyone deserves some sleep." Though he said the words smoothly, Omi could tell that deep in those brown eyes, Ken wanted more than anything to go back and help Aya. However, better judgment told him that even if he did, he'd be caught off guard and too exhausted to fight properly. So he gave in to the temptation of sleep just as the sun began to rise over the horizon.

* * *

Cerulean eyes kept their gaze on the lock of the door as his tired, still red, fingers fumbled with the knob. Finally it twisted and Omi started in, a fatigued Ken resting gently on his shoulder. As Ken headed back to bed, Omi locked the door behind him, but turned quickly at the sound of rustling. The boy reached into his white hoodie and pulled out four darts. He held them securely between the knuckles of his fingers. A figure was turning the corner into the foyer, Omi tensed, but then there was a tired yawn and Yohji approached. He ran a hand through long, blonde locks and rubbed his green eyes. "Omittchi, what were you and Ken doing out this early in the morning?"

The boy shook his head and wrapped slim arms around Yohji's waist. He leaned in to the scent of his shirt and felt sleepy fingers run through his hair. Still, it felt good to be home, away from the dangers of the night and safe within the arms of his protector. Omi looked into the hallway just in time to catch a glimpse of Ken, shoulders slumped and eyes shining with a longing for... something. Omi had almost been able to identify it, but then he was gone and so was the expression deep within Ken's brown eyes. The boy clung a bit tighter and let go. "Nothing, Yo-tan. I'll explain later."

Omi watched him nod and give a tired, child-like grin. "Alright. What do you think about going back to sleep. 5:30 is way too early to be awake." He winked and the younger boy chuckled, following Yohji into his room where they crawled under the covers and lay silently. Yohji rested his arm on Omi's waist, hand clenched at the younger boy's chest and Omi wrapped his fingers around the callused flesh. As he drifted to sleep, a thought drifted into his head. _I wonder if Ken will be okay_... Then he was gone, absorbed into the secure darkness of sleep.

* * *

Ken slid under his covers with a shiver. _How much can a person's life change in just one night? _He wondered as he clenched the sheets to his chest. The heat was on, just like on any other night, but for some reason the chill of the winter broke through the walls to shake his heart. _Plenty_. Ken reminded himself, thinking back on when Aya had revealed to him his shady past. _One night... One instant can change your life indefinitely_. He could feel the emptiness of the bed behind him and wished to whoever may be listening that Aya was there to tell him that they would get through this.

Ken had always thought that if you hit the captain of a team, the rest of the team would fall. He almost gave in to that thought as he lay there shivering in the night, but he just couldn't leave things like this. He couldn't bring himself to fall when their leader was out, alone with the most horrendous enemies in the world with whom Weiß had unfortunately become quite acquainted with. He closed his eyes to mimic sleep, but only caught images of Aya chained to a wall, beaten and bleeding or Aya pale on the floor, dead. He gave another violent shiver.

More than anything he held the wish to prove himself wrong. Ken understood fully that the more time he wasted the more chance of getting killed Aya had, but to face all of Schwarz under the handicap of fatigue would be murder in itself. He sighed, pressing his face into the pillow. For a fleeting moment, Ken became jealous. How good must Yohji feel to know that Omi could be tucked safely under his wing? If only Ken could do that with Aya. If he could then the world would be a much better place. However, Aya wasn't one to take well to being held captive, even by someone who had become his closest friend. Still the thought burned in him and Ken wished to feel as though everything would be all right, that everything would return to the way it had been before Omi's birthday, before Yohji was able to claim his prize. _At least then_, Ken considered as his eyes drifted closed, _I wouldn't feel so alone in all of this_. The lids slid shut and the images returned.

A fighting effort was required to push them away. Every last strangled breath, every fading pulse of the heart drawing immeasurable anger in Ken. He used it to erase the thoughts and settle in warmth, which he had always imagined the circle of Aya's arms would be. He could almost feel the heartbeat against his back, the light breaths on his cheek, but when Ken leaned back into it he rolled over, brown eyes staring at the ceiling. The illusion broken, Ken pulled his arm over his eyes and slowly fought away the tears, but still the weariness overcame him and he drifted into an unsettling sleep.

* * *

Pain seared through his face, blood pulsing against his smooth cheek in time with his enraged heartbeat and flowing through the raised welt created by the leather against his jowl. Violet orbs glared deeply past Brad's shoulder, almost wishing that he had the strength to look him directly in the eye. He was crouched over, head looking up to meet the man's coat sleeve, arms held tightly around his waist where he had received a sound whipping. Punishment, it seemed for something so meaningless as a few days away. Or at least, that's what it would seem like to the rest of Schwarz.

Nagi himself knew the truth and locked it away in the small immune shell where he hid secrets from his probing master. He pulled up a knee to stand, but stopped. "I was stopped, sir. I was knocked out from behind. There was no way I could have avoided it." Nagi was flat out lying. Schuldich could hear it on his voice, but never bothered to point it out. Brad, however, seemed convinced. "I was taking in the boy so that he wouldn't freeze and someone knocked me out. All I saw was the bright red hair. When I found Schuldich in the alleyway, I assumed that you were after him for what he did."

The American nodded, watching Nagi stand. "Alright," He said, seemingly to Nagi, "It doesn't account for your lack of contact, Prodigy." He raised the whip and those Violet eyes merely watched it, making no move to stop the blow. Perhaps he thought he deserved it, but as it struck his face once more and was raised again, Schuldich rushed between the two. The leather was brought down hard on the German's shoulder, tearing flesh from his muscle so that blood rushed freely from it.

Schuldich stood completely still, unflinching as the whip came down on him again and again. Each welt rose and burst, blood soaking through the remains of his plaid over shirt. He ground his teeth and raised his mental walls so as not to cry out from beneath them. He could feel every bit of pain from not only his wounds, but Nagi's as well. He could feel the stinging pain across his back and sides where the whip had left its bite. The German knew pain and certainly knew how to deal with it. Jade eyes gleamed from beneath the sunglasses at Brad, who's contorted grimace showed no signs of letting up. If anyone dared to take the punishment of another member, then they would have to accept the full punishment from where it began. Schuldich counted, only four left. One against his thigh, he grit his teeth and squinted his eyes. The blood poured hot from the wound. Another deep in his side, snapping just at the line of his ribs. Then one crossed his face, piercing the skin across his nose. The sunglasses flew to the ground, clattering onto the invisible floor just at the final crack sounded. This one sent Schuldich to the floor, just catching himself before he struck his head. One eye squinted shut to keep out the blood, Schuldich stood, albeit unsteadily.

White jacket rising and falling heavily over the thick chest of the American, Brad began to wind the whip. Apparently he'd reached his own limit, whether or not he believed that Nagi or Schuldich, either, deserved more. He wiped the blood and sweat from his brow, turned on his heel and stalked away. Once out of sight, Schuldich slumped to the ground, hand cupped over his eye frantically. The gash was deep, but had skipped over the jade orb resting, unharmed, within the socket. Still the laceration began at his hairline and could be followed all the way to the curve of his jaw. The other across his nose was merely a scratch in comparison, leaving a shallow line from one side of his nose, opposite the wounded eye, to the beginning of his cheekbone. He ignored it, focusing more on the others. He could feel the warmth of Nagi's hands run over the gash in his side and those on his shoulders. The boy had apparently summoned a wet cloth from the bathroom, for the cool water stung against his cuts. "Lieb," Schuldich began, waving away the young boy's hand although touched by his loyalty, "You need to be worrying about yourself, not me."

Nagi nodded, crumpled on the floor as Schuldich himself was. He ran a shaking hand over the slice along his cheek, then the shallow nip on his pouting lips. "Thank you," Nagi said quietly. He seemed more ashamed with his weakness than he was of his lie. "You didn't have to help me." This drew a laugh from the older man who took the towel from Nagi's shaking hands and applied it to the cuts himself, sopping up the blood with it. The young boy's violet eyes shot up to meet the deep jade, unlike he'd ever done before. To catch a full look from him was a near unattainable feat. "I mean it, Schuldich." Another thing amazingly unlike Nagi: to call Schuldich by his name was usually reserved for something important or intimate between the two. Shocked, the German stopped.

"I know I didn't have to," He replied, lips no longer holding that permanent grin. "I just didn't want--" He trailed off and continued patting away the blood with sculpted fingers. "I didn't want you to have to be put through that after you were already knocked out." Schuldich knew the lie when he'd seen it, but if Nagi had the guts to hide things now, then Schuldich could only be proud of him. "After all, it wasn't your fault."

The younger boy turned away, feeling the torn portion of his pants pulled up near the junction of his leg and hip. It was nothing more than a gesture and Schuldich nursed it as best he could. Neither spoke, the usual white noise filling the air. It sounded a bit like water or even air rushing past, either way it created a soothing, yet uncomfortable atmosphere between the two. Nagi was shaking now, whether from cold or pain, the other couldn't tell. The older man stopped and leaned over, tilting the younger boy's face to him. Still, the violet orbs turned away just so that they wouldn't reach his gaze. "Lieb," the German said but there was no reply, "Lieb, look at me." His voice was urging, but nowhere near commanding.

"I am looking at you." Came the sullen reply.

Schuldich blinked and gave a small smile, unlike the playful smirks he gave. "No, Lieb. Look at me, not through me." Slowly, uncertainly, the violet orbs focused on the cat-like eyes in front of him. Schuldich studied them for a moment, gazing deeply into them to find something just out of his reach. It was like there was something blocking recognition, like a veil. He didn't extend the probes, just looked. The violet wasn't really violet now. It shifted a bit here and there. Some areas were more blue, others redder, constantly moving like a universe trapped in the confines of his eyes. It was also about as cold. There was no emotion reflecting back at him and Schuldich could only feel the hole open in his heart. Through everything they had gone through together Nagi could still only see them as master and apprentice. The older man sighed and pulled his hand away.

Nagi looked to him curiously as he stood to walk away. "What's wrong?" He asked, tenor ringing lightly through the room. The boy had almost sworn that he saw something more in the silver green depths, almost a wish for something, a longing for something that he would never get. For a brief moment, Nagi had felt sorry for him.

"Nothing, Liebling." Schuldich replied, shedding himself of the blood-soaked flannel. "I'm just going to go wash up before I end up looking too much like Farfarello." As he passed the couch he tapped a finger on the brow of the Irishman who, until then, had been unconscious in the confines of his straight jacket. He now opened his right eye and rolled the golden orb around wildly. Landing on Schuldich he let out a growl and flopped over to return to sleep. The German moved out into the corridor, hand on bloodied brow. He cast a glance at the man strung up against the wall at the end of it. "Sorry about all of this." He cooed, a bit forced. "We're just after the kitten, you know."

Aya opened his mouth to reply, but the bathroom door slammed shut before he could speak.

Schuldich closed his eyes and slid to the ground with his back against the wall. He didn't care about the pain anymore, or even the lacerations on his body that might soon create heavy scars. All he wanted to do was sit and imagine what he could have seen. There had been nothing in the cold depths of that shifting universe, but it could have been warm, it could have opened up to him, even if it was just a bit. Schuldich knew that if he wanted to see the truth, find the emotions, he wouldn't have been able to even if he had probed. Love didn't come from the brain, not from the constantly working grey matter lodged between your ears. It came from somewhere deeper that Schuldich couldn't read into.

It was times like these that he wished he could break down his walls and cry. However, pride still remained in his twisted soul and Schuldich wasn't about ready to reveal his mind to the rest of the company. So he just sat, head propped up against the tiled wall and let the tears roll down his face to sting at the cuts, but didn't dare sob no matter how large the lump in his throat became.

* * *

Nagi pulled himself gently form the floor. Today had been a hard day. Try to slip back into Schwarz for your own good and something will indefinitely go wrong. The boy considered himself quite lucky to find Schuldich in no mood to pry into his thoughts. It had been a silent agreement between the two. Schuldich had taken him under his wing and taken care of him as best he could even with the horrible memories lingering in the back of Nagi's mind. The nights so much like the one not so long ago shared between the rest of Schwarz and the one he referred to as 'angel.' Omi may as well have been. He was so innocent although two years older than himself. Of course, Nagi had been horribly skewed. Every thought was shadowed in a haze or blocked by a wall that no one had bothered to break down. Either that or they had been too afraid to unleash those horrible thoughts again. Almost killed, heart pounding against his chest. Nagi could still feel the pain shooting up his spine and tearing at him as he screamed, blood trickling out of his mouth.

These things had almost been buried, smothered, murdered, but each time Nagi pulled them back subconsciously. His dreams forced him to remember and Nagi couldn't fight it. Immortality wasn't worth putting another through the same thing. His time was running out, the angel's was. The next step had to be taken soon if the ceremony would be completed. Nagi wouldn't allow the angel's innocence be taken, wouldn't permit his beauty to be subverted as his own had been so long ago. The boy ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He may have just gotten back, but something had to be done about this situation. Nagi fully understood the danger of holding thoughts like this, but who could he tell to help his situation?

Violet eyes shifted to the man lying restrained on the couch. Farfarello wouldn't be waking up any time soon. It was a simple solution he'd used to put him in this state. Nagi couldn't have anyone interfere when it came to concealing his objective. He pulled on his jacket and wrote a small note to Schuldich before walking out the door into the cold mid day air. The breeze picked up the note and it floated gently to the ground, sliding under the door into the hallway. "Out for research." It read, nothing more than that.

The air was salty against his face and the water splashed cold on his ankles as he waded through the shallow water. This hall was open up top above him. Nagi shifted his gaze up with a smile. He closed his eyes and allowed the water droplets to rise around him and dance across his face, stinging the cuts placed there. It was a beautiful day.

A day meant for betrayal.


	4. The Price of Arrogance

Cigarette Juice Box

Chapter 4: The Price of Arrogance

WARNING! ...violence?

* * *

The bright orange embers burned deep against the white rolled paper holding in the cigarette's tobacco. Smoke poured from the tip and spread into the air with delicate white swirls. Green eyes followed the trail and the man exhaled, creating more smoke as it streamed from his mouth to join the fading grey. The man closed his eyes and took another drag before running a long hand through his hair. He shook his head. "Long night..." he whispered to himself, playful baritone tired and stressed. Yohji was alone now and he knew it better than anyone. It had taken quite a bit of time to convince the others that he would be perfectly fine with this meeting. Now the man stood alone outside the bookstore with his arms crossed, glancing at the clouds filtering the winter sun.

_Good time to choose a meeting. In the middle of the day no one will be willing to make a move_. Yohji thought to himself as he fiddled with the wire-filled watch attached to his wrist. 12:50, it read and the man sighed, leaning his head against the wall. Cold winter air sifted through his wavy hair and tickled his neck. The man shivered and pulled his burnt orange jacket tighter around him. He flicked the cigarette he'd been nursing to the ground and stepped on it to extinguish the red embers. The time was drawing nearer and Yohji had become more than nervous. This could possible be a trap. Maybe not one for himself, but one for Ken and Omi, or perhaps even Aya-chan. None of them had anyone there to protect them. He lifted his hand to nervously fiddle with the brown fur lining the collar and shoulders. He checked the watch on his opposite hand.

12:55. The butterflies were beating against the walls of his stomach. Yohji was decently good about keeping down anxiety until the situation came when he was forced to wait. Surprises went smoothly when it came to Yohji Kudou, but a planned attack or meeting just drove him absolutely crazy. Yohji Kudou had been trained to take action, not sit and wait for the unknown to happen! He swallowed, tempted to pull out another cigarette. The thought was immediately pushed away and Yohji stood watching the people pass him, heading to the park or to the movie theatre just around the corner.

"You're early." Yohji jumped, his nerves getting the better of him, and spun to face the soft tenor. Nagi stood only a few feet away, his hands deeply set into the pockets of a thick black jacket. His pouting lips appeared over a stained white scarf and his expression was, as always, cold and untouched. However cuts and bruises now marked the previously perfect skin. Violet gaze drifted just past his eyes, into the distance. Yohji shrugged quickly, noticing that he hadn't replied. The younger boy nodded to the bookstore and Yohji entered through the glass doors with Nagi mere steps behind.

It was a cosy place, Yohji noted. Comfortable red chairs had been pulled up to Internet stations scattered around the area for studying purposes. Monitors shone against the dim fluorescent light above them. A few areas held boxes of candies and jellybeans of assorted colours: pinks and greens and carmine reds along with the duller browns and specked ones. The older man almost smiled. Such a quaint place. Nagi had already taken a seat at one of the tables just outside the cafe portion.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Yohji moved forward and placed himself across the round table from the boy and propped his head up on a hand to have a seemingly casual conversation. This hadn't been the kind of meeting Yohji had imagined when he first set up a meeting with Nagi. His chosen place was a restaurant with dim lighting and comfortable booths where they could converse and not be interrupted accept by the waiter. Now, surrounded by children laughing and pointing at pictures, Yohji wondered how much like Omi this boy could be. _Where to begin, _Yohji asked himself, but no words formed in his mind to constitute the many questions swirling in his mind.

"I'm the one who brought him back." Nagi began, eyes turned to the table upon which his hands rested as to prove he carried no weapon. Sadly, it wasn't much reassurance with the powers burning behind the cold walls of his eyes. Yohji blinked, not expecting to have heard something so soon, much less from one of the Schwarz members. "If I hadn't he would have died."

The older man had already begun to feel a bit upset with this boy sitting so meekly across from him as though nothing had ever happened. "Why? I thought that you would have your fun with him then let him die. He had no way to fight against any of you. He would have had no chance. I would have expected Schwarz to just…" Yohji's words fell short, the images in his mind swirling too quickly to be put into sentences. His instinctive need to protect the boy burned in his chest. Although Omi wasn't there he had resolved to protect his name.

Expression never changing and eyes still turned to his limp hands, Nagi nodded. "That's why I did it. They don't understand what it's like. They don't understand how it is to have to have the life you've longed for taken from you. I had to side with Schwarz even though I despised the idea, but my morals don't count to them. Most of the time what I say goes unheard."

"So you remain silent?" Yohji spat, but glanced at the children and lowered his voice. "You didn't even bother to tell them that what they were doing was unforgivable? Last year you didn't say anything! If you felt so remorseful back then, you could have left and they would have thought you were dead, but instead you crawled back to them? You don't seem sorry in the least." Yohji stopped and inhaled, noting the wetness forming around Nagi's usually cold eyes.

Nagi lifted the corner of his scarf and wiped away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "Apparently you can't understand either. I have a debt to pay to them. They saved me from everything I faced as a child. Not just to them but to Omi. I made him go through all of that because I was still owned then. I was still a 'pet.' Now I have repaid my debt." He sighed and turned violet eyes upwards, free of the walls. Yohji almost gasped. Everything in them almost hurt. The pain and the hatred of everyone he'd ever been forced to obey and the hatred of the entire human race. Every scream, every ache pierced through Yohji urgently, begging for him to understand. He could almost see the laughing faces as men and women alike walked away, leaving a small boy crumpled in the streets. He could almost feel the tears rising up into his eyes, as though he were the boy he was seeing lying alone in the cold dark streets of the city, plagued by the scrutinising glare of passers. For a moment he, too learned what it was like to hate the world you live in, completely and fully, but then he caught a glimpse of something else in those hot, universal depths. There was a light. Just as he was making out an idea, the boy looked away, returning his gaze to the pallid hands resting lifelessly on the tabletop. "I'm not a pet anymore. I'm a master. I'm my own master and I'm going to do what I think is right. It will seem as though I'm still part of Schwarz, but they know a lot more than I do and surely a lot more than you."

Yohji was sitting now with his hands resting in his lap, fingers entwined together tightly so as not to do anything stupid. "So you're with us?" It was a simple question, almost implied. Yohji was suddenly relieved that they had another on their team, this time one who could easily access the information of their enemies.

"No." The tenor voice snapped. "I side with no one but myself." The boy relaxed into the back of his chair, releasing the tension he'd not realised was holding him together. "They're using Aya as bait. I suggest that you keep Omi under lock and key when you leave." Nagi stood and shoved his hands back into his pockets, gaze shielded by the ruffle of dark bangs. Yohji reached out to the boy, obviously confused as to how Aya was being used, but by the time he'd opened his mouth to speak, Nagi was already half way to the door. The older man stood and scratched his head, puzzled by the nature of the meeting. In a way, though, he felt honoured to be trusted with the information he'd been given. Still he couldn't forgive Schwarz for what they had done to Omi. His brows furrowed and he strode out the door, cigarette in hand.

* * *

A persistent banging came on the door, thumping ringing through the apartment as Omi rushed to answer it. He hurried to the door, a toothbrush in his mouth, while he adjusted the small tropical green shorts. He twisted the knob and pulled it open, allowing Yohji to stride upset through the door. Omi's bows furrowed and Ken slunk into the foyer from his room. "Wha' happened...?" Ken slurred and the younger boy nodded as though to ask the same question and pulled the toothbrush from his mouth.

The eldest of the three glowered down at them from behind slanted sunglasses. "Is Aya okay?" He questioned sternly. Something was obviously plucking at the back of his mind, but Yohji continued on when silent glances had been exchanged, his attention tuned on the soccer player. "Has something happened to him, Ken?"

Omi blinked cerulean eyes, knowing that heavily lashed glare was not directed towards him. He was being ignored and Omi Tsukiyono didn't take kindly to that. He swallowed the toothpaste without the time to run to the bathroom and spit it out. "Yohji, We meant to tell you when you got back," the boy began stepping between the dark-haired man and the tall blonde, "Aya was taken last night." Yohji's gaze shifted momentarily to the boy blocking his path.

"Do you have any idea where he is?" Yohji asked as he busied himself with shoving his hands into his pocket, fumbling for a cigarette and lighter.

Ken's dark eyes narrowed. "What happened, Yohji? Did someone contact you about him? Was it Schwarz?" The older man didn't answer as he flicked at the lighter until a flame formed at the top. Ken sighed. "Yes we know where he is. The only problem is that we don't know how we're expected to get in." Yohji merely puffed at the cigarette and pulled it away between two fingers, blowing out a stream of smoke away from the other two. "We've only been given a clue."

Delicate hands placed the cylinder into the ashtray. "So we only need two people to get in?" Ken gave a confused nod. Yohji slightly inclined his head. "Good," he replied as he scooped a kicking Omi into his arms, carrying him to the bathroom against the thrashing limbs crying for escape. "I'm sorry, Omittchi," He whispered as he blocked the door handle from turning. He jammed a broken bobby pin into the slot where the key would be placed to unlock it, thus keeping either side locked. "I can't have you getting hurt, not with the way things are now."

A muffled cry came from behind the door. "What do you mean, Yohji? Let me out! You can't do this alone!" Omi called, distantly aware of the man retreating down the hall, away from the bathroom door. "Get back here and let me out, Yohji! If Aya's in trouble he needs as many people there to help as he can!"

Dangerous green eyes met brown. "Ken," the man began, "You need to get your things together if we're going after him. Aya won't be able to last long with Schwarz." Ken nodded and slunk off to his room to re-apply the uniform to which he'd become so accustomed, but as an after thought, slipped the bugnucks into the pocket of his leather jacket. The young man almost felt sorry for Omi, calling out with no reply, but understood what Yohji's actions had been for even if Bombay didn't. Soon he'd met up with Yohji who had casually slipped into his tight assassin jacket, leaving the front open to reveal the crop top beneath. Apparently now, in the face of a mission, the cold no longer mattered.

* * *

Yohji had already slid into the driver's seat of his vehicle, green eyes hidden from beneath the cold, slanted glasses. A frown had creased itself into the sides of his mouth and Ken carefully slid into the car so as not to further upset the brooding man. "Ken," Yohji said as he started the ignition, "you understand that all of this is a trap, don't you?"

Brown eyes hardened at the superior tone on Yohji's voice. "I've known since we found the note." He buckled his seat belt and Yohji set off. "It was all too perfectly timed. Just enough time for Omi to heal from the previous incident and just enough time to complete a ritual before the new moon." Ken eyed the tightening of Yohji's lips. "I think that's when it's going to take place."

"March sixth," the older man whispered. The same date as his birthday. Yohji had expected something soon, but not this soon. Omi had just begun to get comfortable around people again. An amazing recovery for a rape victim, though being part of Weiß, Yohji was positive that they'd had gone through much worse. _What a Birthday present_ , Yohji mused to himself, _Have Omi killed in commemoration on your birth_. He sneered and turned a corner. "Where is Aya, Ken?"

Ken leaned back in his seat, lightly feeling at the outline of his bugnucks. "Where we last saw Schwarz. They're at the sunken museum."

* * *

It had been quite a while since Yohji had closed him up and Omi now felt his throat clenching up and going hoarse again. That was the last thing he needed right now. The young man slumped against the wall and set his head back on the tile. He could still feel the lingering pain of the healing cuts in his back and on his sides. Each one itched to some extent, but Omi knew that it wouldn't help to scratch. Instead he placed his face against the cold wall and heaved a deep sigh. So much had happened in the past week that Omi could hardly make one day out from the previous. The only thing that remained in correct place was the night of his birthday. That was where everything began.

He shifted, noting the slightly sore bruise where deep tears had been. He'd been lucky. Though each one of his injuries had been severe they had healed at a rapid pace thanks to Omi's activity and just as diligent immune system. Most of what remained was the nightmares. He remembered the pain but forced it away only for Yohji's benefit. He supposed it must have seemed as though he'd become comfortable around all of them again, but even still he would have rather been around people he didn't know... that didn't know about his... condition. He knew that at times the rest of Weiß pitied him and often babied him with kind words and soft voices, but that wasn't what Omi needed. He needed time alone. He needed time to spend with his precious computer, to type into the cold recesses of its memory and record everything that plagued him during the night, each haunting cackle and every hot breath against his bare back. For everything that had happened, Omi had healed quickly. However the boy couldn't always hide behind his smile. He couldn't hide from himself for long.

So now he remained on the floor, propped up on an arm with his face pressed against the blessed cold. How he hated it, but how he loved it. He needed to prove that he could hate something and therefore loved it for making him more imperfect than everyone thought of him. It proved that he wasn't a perfect porcelain doll to be prettied and babied. Omi grit his teeth, suddenly filled with complete hatred for his innocence. The silken blonde hair and angelic blue eyes, even the unblemished and slightly golden skin he had learned to loathe. He wasn't an angel. If anything he was a demon! At least this is what Omi told himself day after day, but he knew that at the end of the day, no one would ever notice the imperfections. He slammed a fist into the wall, cracking the tile. His heart pounded with adrenaline, pain coursing up his arm and Omi loved it. How he loved it.

Blue eyes slid shut and he reached for a razor laying open on the sink. _No_, he decided silently, _I'm not going to kill myself. I'm not worth it. Not worth the effort._ He held open the opposite hand and grit his teeth together in the parody of a smile. Pressing the sharp blade against his palm, he stopped. The sapphire gems shot open, eyeing the unlocked door and the hallway in plain sight. Something stroked his open palm, sliding the razor from his grasp and Omi turned his gaze wildly to the figure of a boy kneeling before him.

The pale face had been pierced by a long, shallow gash trailing down the side of his face and another just grazing the bottom of his lip. For a moment the blonde boy reeled. Something was strange about all of this, the cool hands pressed up against his own and the violet gaze shaded by heavy lashes. Omi released the razor and the crouched figure clenched it to his chest, turning an unshielded gaze towards him. The younger boy seemed sad, Omi decided, not in the least repelled by the shining, horrifying wounds torn into the soul past the veil of Nagi's eyes. The boy gave a smile, not quite reaching past the bitterness conquering his eyes. "I've come to get you out."

Omi shook his head, not quite understanding. "What do you mean? You're not going to kill me?" Nagi shook his head and drew back a little, almost obviously ashamed that he had started off so quickly. He had donned the uniform he had worn almost a year before. The grey fabric accented his dark brown hair, making his appearance seem almost meek and timid. A black jacket hung limp, just slightly off his shoulders along with a copper-tainted scarf. For a moment Omi felt sorry for the boy sitting mere feet from him. "So why are you here?"

A calm, quiet voice replied after a moment of hesitation. "I'm not a pet anymore. I've repaid my debts and now I rely on my own judgment rather than the judgment of my masters." Omi felt a small pang in his chest at the realization that this could very well have been him had his father not rescued him from the depths of the kidnapper's clutches. He could have been a toy for cruel people, forced to pay off the debts of the Takatori family. "I don't want to see you caged, either." Nagi finished, almost as an afterthought.

Cerulean eyes slid shut for only a moment to regain his thoughts and shook his head. "I'm not being caged, Schwarz. I'm with these people because I choose to be with them, not because I'm indebted to them. You see, they have debts to me as well and so none of us have a reason to stay except for the simple fact that we want to."

"And so you choose to be treated like an animal." Those violet eyes turned back to him, meeting Omi's gaze full on. "You choose to be held captive and forced to act on the decisions of your partners? You choose to be used?" Nagi shooed his head, the dark, glossy locks falling just barely into his cut face. "I didn't think that I was being used for a long time. Everything I did I had convinced myself was of my own will, but then I saw past my own illusions and found the truth, Omi." The direct use of his name was almost a shock, but though the elder boy's eyes widened for a moment, he listened patiently. "I won't sit by and watch you go through the same thing as I have for so long."

Those violet eyes were difficult to meet, the sorrow grew infinitely in the depths and Omi looked away to land on the bruises and cuts tainting the younger boy's face. Immediately he thought of Aya's brash temper and shivered, trying to force the thought from his mind. _Aya would never hurt me like that. He's always held himself off... but then..._ His memory drew back to the last time he'd met with the red-haired man and felt those loathing, lavender eyes sear through him. He shook his head. "No, it would never happen," Omi explained to Nagi who sat by patiently. "They may push me to do a lot, but they would never think of using me."

Then there was the fact that he had always done the work. He had formed all the research and all the strategies had been carefully planned by the long nights Omi kept, staring at the computer screen. Then he was expected to carry out the operation without so much as a thank you from Aya or Yohji. Something about it rang familiar in his mind. He thought for a moment and formed the image of Nagi standing by, tired eyes holding Omi immobile in the cold snow. Not so much as a nod of gratitude... It was then that Omi knew that he was no different from the boy opposite him. He slowly nodded and stood, offering a hand to Nagi who pulled himself up and gave a slight smile of thanks. Such a small action was all that Omi needed to form his choice. Omi placed a hand on the sad boy's shoulder and gave a full on smile. "All right, I'll go with you."

* * *

Cold foaming water splashed up onto the narrow walkway, making Ken shiver. He had almost been tempted to roll down the sleeves of his jacket, but soon brushed off the thought, concentrating fully on the task at hand. _Aya is somewhere down there, _Ken thought and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He had to keep on. Schwarz would not get the best of them again.

If this was a game, then Aya was the prize. If Aya were the prize, Ken would give his life to win. He had decided this the night before as he sat up, staring at the ceiling. Without the red-haired man, without the leader of the team, nothing would be complete. Especially the gaping hole widening in Ken's heart. He still hadn't gotten the chance to tell Aya and if things went wrong now... No they couldn't go wrong now. It wouldn't be allowed to end that way. Things had been good for so long, they couldn't go wrong. Ken wouldn't let them.

So he continued forward, following his tall companion a ways off. This was a search for happiness and Ken would get his prize whether or not it cost his own life. He could feel the anticipation build up in his chest, preparing for the game ahead. There were no rules in this game and the only thing Ken had to lean on was the hope that if something happened, Yohji would push forward to realize Ken's ideals. Up ahead he caught sight of Yohji stopping, leaning down to gaze into a grate sticking up about four feet from the walkway they had been stumbling on, slipping in the ankle-high water. The man sped up his pace, paying no attention to the sloshing of his feet as he continued forward.

Ken placed a hand on the edge. Something about all of this seemed surreal, impossible. This would have had to be the top floor, a widow's walk of some sort. Perhaps it had been placed for security officers or tourist observations of Tokyo. Still he leaned over and cast a dark brown gaze deep into the pit. "Balance the pendulum..." He muttered to himself. Ken stepped back. "Yohji, do you have any bright ideas?" The man shook his head and leaned with his back against the cement structure. "All right," the younger man reflected out loud. "I guess we'll have to do it the hard way..."

Gloved hands reached to grab Yohji's, who jumped at the unexpected grip. Ken was pulling out a length of wire from his watch and the older man attempted to push him away. "What do you think you're doing?" He demanded, "That's mine!" Ken continued, bending the wire until it fit securely together. "What are you planning on doing with that?" He edged closer, examining the loop. "You're not going to do what I think you're going to do, are you?"

The younger man slipped the wire around his wrists and tightened it with nimble movements of his tongue and teeth. Had Yohji not known that Ken had secured his thoughts on Aya alone, he would have suspected Ken of suicide. Ken clumsily pulled himself onto the ledge, pulling Yohji up with him. "Look, I need you to lower me down there."

"Well," Yohji began, "Once you get down there how am I supposed to?" The man pushed up his glasses so they rested on his brow, slightly holding back stray whips of hair. Ken had already propped himself on the side of the drop-off, tightening the length between himself and the older man.

Ken shrugged. "When I get down there I'll secure my end and you can tie yours somewhere." Yohji glanced around as if to say 'where' and Ken pointed to a slim piece of grating on the inside of the ledge. "Get ready." Yohji spread his feet apart to keep his balance and Ken slid off the edge, jolting when he hit the end of the wire. The older man jerked along with it, but his preparations had been for naught as the jolt pulled him forward over the edge with Ken deep into the dark abyss.

* * *

Cerulean eyes hovered over Aya's car wearily. It was one of the last things Omi ever wanted to have to do. Aya's car was more precious to him than almost any possession he had. It wasn't that he was a stickler for money, but he would save up to get the nicest things that he could for his sister and when he had the rare chance of getting something nice for himself, he took great pride in knowing that he had worked for it. "Well," Omi began, turning just enough to glance at the younger boy at his side. "Here goes nothing..."

"I still don't understand why we need it," Nagi explained quietly as he plodded up the front steps with Omi.

The older man sighed and raised a fist to the door, lightly knocking at it with his first knuckle. "Well, you don't want to walk the entire way, do you?" Omi's question went unanswered as the metal grating was raised to reveal the dark brown eyes of Aya-chan.

The girl cocked her head to the side, but Omi just smiled. "Aya-chan, I'm sorry I didn't call before I came, but I was wondering if I could borrow your brother's car?"

Aya-chan relaxed a bit and slumped against the doorframe in a slightly cocky manner. She flipped a hand to her braid and pushed it off her shoulder. "I don't know if Ran would be too happy about that. What do you need it for?" Omi shrugged it off.

"Oh I was just going to go shopping with--" Omi cut himself off with a nervous glance to the younger boy at his side who merely stood politely stern at his side, walls rebuilt behind universal eyes. "With Naoe," he finished, deciding to use the boy's last name so as not to raise suspicion. "Yohji and Ken took the car out already and if I don't get things done before they get back..." He shrugged nonchalantly, "You know how Yohji is with these kind of things."

The girl's attention had immediately turned to Nagi the moment his name had been given. Aya-chan smiled at him and winked, to which he gave no response. "Oh!" She exclaimed, "So are you one of Omi's friends, then?" She propped a hand on her hip when Nagi gave a vague nod. "Are you here to help him save my brother?" Omi tried his best to keep his cover, but the tainted blush had already started to spread across his face. Aya-chan turned her deep gaze back to the older boy. "Omi, you should know that I wouldn't buy such a cheap lie. I know as well as you do that you're still under house arrest." The girl leaned forward to give the man the full fury of her scrutinizing glare. "What if those guys got a hold of you again? I don't think Ran would be too pleased."

She pulled away with a sigh. "Well I guess I can let you take the car." She smiled and turned away calling back, "I'll be right back with my things," before running up the stairs to her compartments.

Omi's plastered grin faded and his shoulders slumped. He turned to Nagi, shrugging. The younger boy glanced to Omi but returned his dark gaze to the house. Omi followed in suit if only to keep the masquerade going. "She seems nice," The older boy heard Nagi whisper. There was no time to reply though because Aya-chan was back. Clad in tight, stretching black jeans and a simple, double-breasted black coat she skipped down the steps. Just as she reached the door she tied around her head a black bandana to hold back dark bangs. Omi blinked a moment, not quite expecting such a radical change in appearance. Like this she seemed even more like her brother. However the way the jacket fell vaguely reminded Omi of the red-haired German. He suppressed a shudder at the thought, with Aya-chan so near he didn't dare let it pass.

"Alright," she called as she swept past them, a handgun holstered to one side and a dagger on the other, "I'm ready." Aya-chan tossed Omi the keys and he reluctantly handed them to Nagi. Although he had decided to trust the boy, he wasn't quite sure where he planned to take him. More likely than not back to Schwarz, but if that was the case, he'd just use the darts secured in the inside of his jacket to help free his leader. Surely Ken and Yohji would need the help.

Still the boy had his doubts about his companions. Most of what Nagi had described was eerily similar to the way he, himself was treated. For a long while he'd passed it off as tough love, but now as he slid into the passenger's seat of Aya's car, he couldn't be sure. Some things just didn't match up. Sure it seemed sporadic for Yohji to openly confess love for someone, much less Omi himself, but it had felt as though those moments were true and pure, even if Omi was battling with himself even if it meant to just hug the man. The only reason he could think that Yohji would stoop to that would be to ensure his spot in bed with someone. He hoped and prayed, as they drove down the road, that this wasn't the case. Still with his mind just beginning to recover Bombay couldn't help but have his suspicions of everyone.

They pulled up to the parking lot and the smell of ocean filled Omi's nostrils just as the car door was opened. He jumped out and turned a hard cerulean gaze to Nagi. For a brief moment he felt betrayed, but then he reminded himself that he'd expected this. The younger boy caught his gaze and shook his head with a shrug as though to say 'there was nothing I could do but bring her here.' Even so, Omi reluctantly followed the younger boy out onto the barely visible walkway a few inches beneath the water's surface. Aya-chan moved close behind him, urging Omi to move faster. He sighed and picked up the pace. After all, what choice did he have?

* * *

At first all there had been was pain. Each bone creaked and screamed as they ground against each other. Ken grunted. He could feel the unbearable weight settling on his shoulders and back. Something was stuck in his side, burning and cutting into the skin. The man rolled as best he could with the heavy form crushing him and the metal pieces retracted. Ken cursed. He'd almost forgotten about the bugnucks stored in the pocket of his jacket, but now he pulled them out and slid them onto his right glove.

_What happened..._ He questioned. His surroundings were obviously foreign. At the start it felt almost like a coffin. Heavy cement walls surrounded him and enclosed him at almost all sides. _Great. I've been buried alive_. He mused to himself, but cast a glance upwards to find the setting sun and became a bit confused. Something about this rang familiar in the back of his mind. He reached into his jacket and placed his fingers over the inch long slices in his side as he pondered. So Aya was gone. _No, kidnapped,_ Ken corrected himself. So he went to bed the night before and woke up to... Yohji. Yohji came in and demanded to know what had happened... So he put Omi away and... Everything came back to him in a rush and Ken attempted to push himself up once more, only to find that weight remaining on his back. _That would mean that this is Yohji..._ Ken turned brown eyes to the form and confirmed it. The blonde was sprawled across Ken's back, wire extending from his watch. Around one of his own wrists lay the band of wire, connecting him to the older man.

Either way they couldn't stay here, not with Schwarz so close and Aya deep within the 'dragon's keep.' He unlooped the band and reached back awkwardly to shake his partner. "Yohji," he urged in a whisper, "Yohji, get up." The man shifted just enough for Ken to move away a bit and pull himself into a sitting position. He propped the older man up with his knee, brushing the blonde hair from his face. Unfocused green eyes opened to stare at Ken blankly.

Yohji saw double when he woke. Hardly able to make out the real pair of Ken's eyes from the rest, the man decided to close his own. He moaned and opened his mouth despite the pounding of his head. "Wha' happened?" The older man slurred. His brows furrowed for a moment as a reaction to the sound of his own voice. Something about it wasn't right. Yohji dismissed it and pushed himself from the ground only to fall again. He was lucky that Ken had been expecting his body's reaction and steadily caught him, easing him up against the urged of Yohji's head.

"We fell." Ken explained bluntly. The older man felt the cool skin of Ken's hand against his brow and moaned again. Even the slightest touch hurt. "And it seems like you've got a concussion. A pretty bad one at that." _Obviously _Yohji commented, inwardly sarcastic. He slumped his head against the welcoming shoulder of his companion.

"What about Aya, did we save him yet?" For some reason he couldn't remember much of anything. A few things rang clear in his aching head, but everything else was a dim haze. He opened green eyes and watched Ken sadly shake his head. Yohji furrowed his brows and pushed himself up to stand on his own two feet. Dizziness overcame him for a few moments, but the man forced it away. "Alright then," he began in a confident tone, "we've still got a mission."

Ken gave a distant nod and pulled himself to his feet. With hazy green eyes, Yohji caught sight of something, but the slow process of his brain paid it no extra credence to the crimson splash dropping to the cement floor. They moved forward, approaching the front entrance to the den. It felt strangely warm. The door rippled with something unseen, just sensible enough to take notice of, but Yohji had no time for it. He reached for the doorknob and detached the bit of wire he and Ken had used. Nimble fingers twisted and the door flung open.

The older man's breath caught in his throat. _This room_... Yohji's green eyes stared down the steps leading to somewhere very familiar. _This is where we found Aya-chan._ He slowly headed down the stairs, hand running along the wall to his right where he clearly remembered the platform where their leader's sister had laid the very night they last fought Schwarz.

_Just there,_ brown eyes hovered on the door at the base of the stairs, _That will lead us into the ceremony room._ He knew it would be almost a complete wreck. Pillars had fallen and the ground had cracked open beneath their feet. What more could be expected of it than a complete ruin? Ken approached it nonetheless. The heat of Yohji's body approached, urging him on. Anxiety built up in his chest. What would they find here? Images of Aya's torn body flashed through his mind, too realistic for Ken's current mind-frame and he almost cried out. Instead he extended the bugnucks with a simple clenched fist and flung open the door.

Empty.

Everything had remained just as it was the last time Ken had seen it. His own imprints pressed into the concrete beneath his feet and Omi's against a fallen pillar. _Talk about anti climatic..._ Ken thought as he strode forward. The door closed behind Yohji with an almost silent click. He kept on with a mere glance back, ignoring the aching pain spreading through his side. Aya was more important right now. If they didn't get him out then no one would live though this. _There can't be a team without a captain... _

There came a distant chuckle and Ken spun to face the sound to his left. It continued, not phased in the least with drawing Ken's attention. The slightly nasal laugh rang horribly familiar against the chambers of Ken's mind. "Schuldich..." He spat out loud, turning it into a curse rather than a name, and Yohji approached beside him.

Bright red hair was the first recognizable feature, followed by those taunting jade eyes and cat-like grin. Tight, dark clothes had defined his tall, lanky body. The short sleeves of the clinging shirt revealed the bandages surrounding his wrist. His green bandanna hung casually down his back to mingle with the copper strands. "Weiß, it seems as though you've figured out Nagi's puzzle faster than expected. Did you have a bit of help?" The German tisked, waving a sculpted finger at them. "Don't you know that's cheating?" The rise and falls of the nasal voice soured Ken's mouth.

"Where is he?" The youngest of the three demanded. "Where did you take him?" Yohji placed his hand on the man's shoulder to calm him. If anyone understood what this was like, Yohji did. However the touch was hardly reassuring. Ken understood what Schwarz could do with only a flick of the wrist.

Again came the sickening chuckle. "Who?" Schuldich questioned innocently. "Do you mean the Fujimiya boy?" Ken sneered at the older man's taunting tone. How dare he keep Aya from him? "He's somewhere around here. Maybe you should ask Farfarello, or perhaps Crawford can help you find him."

Before Ken could make another remark Yohji opened his mouth with the hopes that his words came out solid. "Schuldich, we played your sick game, now give us Aya." Schuldich shrugged and held up a hand as though to present the red-haired captive. He had been tied with his hands behind his back and had been thoroughly gagged. Violet eyes darted across the room furiously at his companions standing there. At each side he was held by one of the aforementioned Schwarz members. Brad to the right and Farfarello to the left. Aya hardly gave any fight whatsoever, more content to glare at the men there to play this ridiculous game of chance.

Ken moved forward, but was stopped by a held up hand. "Tut tut, Weiß. Didn't I say you cheated?" He smiled and turned jade eyes to the two. "You've got another game to play to make up for your transgressions." The younger of the two growled impatiently, protectively. Schuldich gave a single laugh. "It always comes down to violence, doesn't it?" The German shook his head. "No, not today. Today it's about wit. Three simple riddles. If you get two right, then you get your precious King. If not..." he snapped his fingers. "Checkmate. You hand over the Kitten. Either way, I assure you, you will get your leader back."

The blonde man stiffened at the mention of Omi, but his lips parted. "Give us the riddles." Yohji said and received an angry glare from the red-haired man who was obviously livid by this point.

Schuldich nodded with a grin, obviously satisfied that they would play his little game. "What founds change, stains reality and no matter what is always out of sense?" Silence hung dead in the air, Yohji's slow mind hardly processing the words. He'd gotten himself into something and surely no one was going to help him out. This was a battle between Ken and himself against an impossible opponent.

The younger of the two bit his lip and Yohji noted a bit of a wider grin crossing the German's face. _No... Ken... don't say it. Whatever you're going to say, don't say it..._ Yohji thought wildly, hoping to God that he would listen. Ken opened his mouth, dark brows furrowed over glinting brown orbs. "Emotion. Emotion gives grounds for change and when it becomes too strong we lose sight of reality."

Schuldich pulled his thumb in a downward motion. "Wrong. Emotions are felt through a person's subconscious. The correct answer is Time. Everything changes in time and changes memories so that they no longer are reality. Time is not felt, but experienced." He crossed his arms. "Next. I am of any colour, or of only one. I am fragile, yet strong. I am lovely, and hideous. What am I?"

_Complete contradictions..._ Yohji mused. _How can any of it be matched with something? Lovely and hideous... a human. A human body can be beautiful, but the spirit hideous or vice versa. A person can be broken easily, but will never really be ruined. Also there are infinite colours of people. Black, tan, white..._ He furrowed his brows. There could always be something else... something that he couldn't see. He turned green eyes up to Schuldich to find that wide, hideous smile and knew he had the wrong answer.

"You're running out of time." That nasal voice chided.

Yohji shook his head, ready to blurt out his answer when he heard Ken's voice cry out unexpectedly. "A flower! A flower can be any colour or even just a single colour. The petals are fragile and will break or tear easily, but many hold protective poisons or thorns. Many are beautiful, but others are hideous." With a simple glance at the German he noted the wide grin and cursed silently.

Schuldich pulled his thumb in an upward motion. "Correct." Ken let out a heavy breath, but stress was building up at the base of his chest, aching, begging to get out. _One more riddle... just one more._ The tide could sway with the wrong answer and Ken was not about ready to give in. "Final question..."

* * *

Omi peered doubtfully over the edge of the downfall. Something about it hit him as dangerous. _Perhaps_ he told himself,_ it's the fact that we'd be falling over thirty feet just to get in._ He gave the younger boy at his side a nervous glance and received no reply. Aya-chan had already jumped up on the side and crouched down, holding on just enough so she wouldn't fall as she leaned over the abyss. It all made Omi nervous. He had agreed to follow Nagi and Nagi had agreed to bring Aya-chan along. If Aya were bait for something, this would be the perfect chance for Schwarz to get all of them out of the way for good. There was also the fact that the only one they wanted was Omi himself.

The dark-haired girl pulled back. "How are we supposed to get in? The riddle said to balance the pendulum, but I don't see one anywhere. Maybe it wasn't literal." She rocked back onto the balls of her feet, covered in cloth shoes. "Everything else had been told in riddles, so it only seems justifiable that the final lines were, too." I just don't understand what it meant."

Cerulean gaze fell on Nagi who merely shrugged. "Well, what were the lines?" He prodded lightly as though to complete the cover made by Omi. When Aya-chan looked up a bit confused, Nagi repeated. "What were the lines?"

Aya-chan shot a glance to Omi as though accusing him of bringing an unneeded person along without telling the entire story. She then pulled her arms down to balance her and sighed. "Well, if Omi wasn't responsible enough to tell you I suppose I have to be. My brother was taken by a group of mercenary assassins and is being held here. We found our way by following a line of riddles. The last one didn't seem to fit in, though. We guessed that it was the final way to know how to get in. It said something to the effects of 'balance the pendulum and make your way into the lion's den.'" She shrugged and allowed herself to slump back onto her bottom. "But it just doesn't seem to make any sense."

Nagi nodded politely in thanks of the explanation, though Omi knew very well that the boy had his part in creating it. The younger of the two glanced around for a moment, universal gaze landing on a thick black wire hidden in the corner of the vent. He ran delicate, practiced fingers over it and wound it around the metal pipes sticking out of the side of the cement opening. He placed his hand on the rubber and wire fixture. "Either way, we could probably just use this to climb down. I don't see any reason to follow riddles when there's an easier way to do things."

_Of course there's an easier way to do things_... Omi thought to himself as he lowered Aya-chan onto the wire. _He could just carry the three of us down in a heartbeat._ He watched the young girl ease her way down, eyeing the swinging of the wire. Apparently this was the pendulum. _Strange... it doesn't seem to have been used yet_. He turned his gaze to Nagi who shook his head, admitting that he wasn't sure about it either. The younger boy surely knew that Omi had been kept behind while the rest of the Weiß members had gone off in search of Aya. What didn't make sense was that the last of the riddles hadn't been completed.

Aya-chan had reached the bottom and she pulled her arms up to fend off anyone who dared come through the doors. He half expected Nagi to go before him, but Omi found himself hastily being ushered onto the wire as though he'd been ordered to without delay. This raised suspicion. If Nagi had broken his ties as a 'pet' as he so referred to them as, then why did he still follow Schuldich's silent orders?

Even so, Omi grabbed the wire and eased his way down, pushing off the wall just enough to safely slide down. Within minutes he was by Aya-chan's side, darts drawn in case of ambush. The boy hardly had the chance to breath once before he felt a delicate hand rest itself on his shoulder. A timid, almost whispering voice floated his ears. "It's not far from here. We need to hurry or else the others are going to make a big mistake." Omi turned to ask why, but Nagi was way ahead of him. "Because the last question has no answer." The older boy's brows furrowed and he pushed the first door open, following down the familiar staircase without hesitation.

* * *

"The Bible, the oceans, the universe, a computer, time. What do all of these things have in common?" Schuldich crossed his arms, jade eyes glinting in the dim, flickering fluorescent light. That grin had been painted on, it seemed, for it hadn't disappeared once though the entire confrontation. Ken was starting to think that something was going on.

Surely Yohji wouldn't be able to think straight after that concussion of his. Everything was up to Ken now. He brought it onto himself to take care of not only Aya, but also Omi. Oh, it would have been so much easier is Omi had been here. Certainly he would have been able to guess all of these on the ball. Now, Ken found, the stakes were higher than they had ever been and he would only ever be able to blame himself if something happened to either of his teammates. For now he ripped at his brain, searching for an answer that seemed hopeless. Each item or being was completely unconnected. Every one of them had nothing to do with the last. He turned dark brown eyes to Yohji who stood almost as motionless as Schuldich himself. Perhaps he had something up his sleeve. Even so, Ken guessed that it would be the wrong answer. Yohji could hardly form coherent sentences. Each time he'd spoken it had been a bit slurred and even his stance seemed more ragged than it should have been.

However Ken hardly had room to complain. His wound had begun to throb and burn. The crimson liquid was on the verge of seeping through the leather of his coat and revealing itself to Yohji or even to Aya who was being held still at the other end of the room. His violet eyes rolled furiously and he fought to spit the gag out as though trying to inform them of something he knew that they didn't. _Something... Something has to connect them. That's what a riddle is about... to find the answer._ Ken found himself pulling desperately at his hair, hoping to loosen a thought. Still, nothing came.

From the corner of his eye he saw Yohji step forward. For a moment Ken was stupefied. Just as the older man had taken the plate to answer a sound came forth, though not from his mouth. There was a sudden bang of heavy wood against cement and Ken's detached mind couldn't comprehend it. He slowly turned to look across the room and he found something he hadn't expected to: Omi staring narrow-eyed at Schuldich who had spun to face him, and Aya-chan close at his side, wielding nothing but a small dagger the length of her forearm. Behind them came another form, almost unrecognized through the tattered white scarf and bloodied appearance to match Schuldich's own. _Amazing, _Ken mused distantly, _I hadn't noticed anything wrong with Schuldich until now..._ The brown gaze hovered over the heavy gash across his right eye and the shallower one across his cheekbone. It didn't mar his appearance, merely enhanced the sharp angles of it. Only someone like Schuldich could ever pull that off.

Yohji opened his mouth, "The answer is that all of the things have been tempered by men. The bible written and edited by men, The Ocean polluted by men, the universe traveled by men and the general creation of the computer had been put together by the hands of men." For a moment Ken smiled with the belief that they had answered correctly. Schuldich's silence had almost answered for him, but there came a deep guttural laugh from across the hall. The German nodded his head to release the captive and Aya fell forward onto his knees with a crack. He hurriedly pulled the cloth gag from his mouth and rose to face Schuldich who shook his head and took hold of Omi's arms, holding them bending his back so as not to allow him the chance to harm him again.

"Sorry, Weiß," the red-haired man laughed as he held back Omi's useless shouts and attempts to lessen Schuldich's grip, "You forgot about time." He smiled cunningly and Nagi shook his head, whether towards Aya-chan's approaches or to follow up on Schuldich's speech was unknown. Either way the young girl made her way past the German and gripped her older brother's arm. "I collect my prize and you have your beloved leader." He pulled away into the open doorway behind him and the other two men followed, Brad standing at the doorway with his arms crossed to bar the way from the assassins.

The American smiled. "I suggest you leave, Weiß. You have your lives for the time being and I wouldn't like to take that privilege from you so long as you don't make fools of yourselves."

Aya gripped his sister's wrist and drug her along to the rest of his team. A deep growl escaped his throat as he pulled a hard hand across Yohji's shocked and tear-stained face. "You fool," he chastised with hard violet eyes. "There was no answer. Now they have Omi and we have no chance to get him back. Do you understand? Next time you see him, he'll be dead." The crimson-haired man turned on his heel and stormed back up the stairs, his sister drug by the wrist behind him.

Yohji fell to his knees with wide green eyes. Tears streamed silently down his face, past the frames of his glasses. His dark-haired companion shook his head and knelt down, hefting as much of the much taller man's weight as possible, forcing Yohji to half carry himself. All the while his mouth hung open, mute to all appearances. However one sentence echoed through his brain continuously and no matter how hard Yohji tried, it wouldn't leave him. _My fault... it's my fault that he's dead..._


	5. Heart's Content

Cigarette Juice Box

Chapter 5: Heart's Content

Disclaimer: The song Yohji is listening to is "Suicide Note" by Johnette Napolitano

WARNING! This chapter contains a lot of lemon. Oh yeah. Also angst.

* * *

Omi collided with the bed cushioning with a heavy squeak, the force of him being thrown causing his head to jolt just enough to make his head spin. Quickly he pulled himself to his knees to stare into Schuldich's flickering jade eyes. Omi grit his teeth together trying not to give into the urge of screaming the line of profanities running through his head. How dare he pick the boy up and carry him around like a rag doll, throwing and cajoling at whim. Omi fell quite short of the treatment, finding himself hardly fit to be an item any longer than he already had been. He could feel those probes at his mind again, but he didn't give the slightest ease off of the anger pouring from his mind, instead he projected it.

His jackets had been taken away, leaving him without weapon and without way to resist. At any rate Weiß had been long gone and Omi was alone now; alone with the enemy who had befriended his repulsive excuse for a family. They had befriended and followed the orders of the uncaring Uncle who had refused to care for Omi only because of his accidental birth. Omi was cynically glad to be the white sheep among the flock of black. Schuldich pulled in with a grin, the cuts on his face hardly marring his appearance. The red bangs fell haphazardly into his eyes as though he hadn't bothered to comb the mane in a few days, allowing it to become the tangled mess best suited for a demon he'd proven himself to be. "So I'm a demon, am I Kitten? I'm the one who gave out orders to do these things, aren't I? Well then hate me all you want, Kitten, but Gott in heaven knows that you're not going to get out of here whether you hate me or not."

Omi very nearly spat in his face. The temptation was most definitely there, but Omi held verbally silent. _I'll never forgive you... _The force behind it was easily fueled with the most ferocity that Omi had ever given anyone in his entire life. Schuldich had never seen the agony that he'd caused those near to him. Nagi, being the only exception, would never allow Schuldich to see past his mental walls.

The young Asian boy stood nervously at the edge of the doorway, Schuldich linking him to all ports of communication. Nagi could almost sink into himself. The last thing he should have done was bring his prize back to the men he hated most. No. Omi wasn't a prize. Though he'd thought of him such only days past, Nagi now knew him as someone willing to keep his word and fight for those he cares for, despite the doubt plaguing him. Nagi respected him for that and perhaps loved him even more for it. Sure Nagi hadn't really loved the boy to begin with. He had merely saw him as someone like himself, someone to teach him how to be happy without reservation. Though he noticed now that there was reservation in the seemingly flawless smile of this angel, since Schuldich was most certainly not receiving it. Anyone who took away his loved ones was sure to catch the wrath of his hatred. Nagi, more than anything, hoped that he would not receive such chastisement now.

A strong fist slammed into the bed, furious jade eyes searing past the depths of the cerulean oceans without limit. There was no grin now, crossing those lips. Instead there was chiseled a deep scowl, almost enough to rival Aya's own. "It's fitting that I return the favor..." There was something more than hatred and fury beyond the green ice caps. Jealousy almost, but Omi couldn't quite put his finger on it. He had hardly ever expected Schuldich to be territorial, his laid back composure giving the impression that nothing was close to him. Each breath either of them took sent a wave of heightening loathing until Schuldich finally pulled away. "I wouldn't want the rest of Schwarz to know our thoughts, now would I? Wouldn't want them to know about how you hate yourself enough to try to take your own life? Wouldn't want them to know the longing you have to find someone without a name, without a face just to carry you away?" He sneered. "Daddy's not alive to save you anymore, is he?"

Omi remained completely still, revealing that, in anger, he remained too cold to comprehend, the ice arrows darted from his deep blue glare. "Whose fault is that?" The boy whispered deep in his throat. He'd never abhorred so strongly in his entire life and it felt horribly good.

"Perhaps it's yours, little Takatori." The jade gaze had almost fogged over. "Maybe you could have done something to stop it, maybe you could have kept him from being killed. If only you had been a little faster hacking the security system or mapping out the grounds maybe then you could have kept Suichi from being killed. But no. He's dead." Schuldich spat, almost completely incapable of maintaining hold on his temper. "I certainly had nothing to do with his death. In fact, Schwarz had been locked up for aiding your uncle. Your family has no gratitude!" The German raised his hand, about to beat down on the blonde boy, but Omi didn't flinch. The hand stopped in midair, unable to rain terror upon Omi's face. He pulled at it, but still it didn't move. With a final growl Schuldich pulled away and stormed out of the room, probes following him to retreat back into their own brain.

Omi grit his teeth together and rolled back onto the bed. It was comfortable, he had to admit, but everything was cold. Sterile and cold. The white sheets of the bed held no warmth, nor did the cement walls absorbing the chill from winter waves. No windows, obviously and no food or drink. Omi licked his lips, noting the dryness of his mouth. He pushed the thought away, instead busying himself in thinking over the conversation. Of course Schuldich had been right. He was always right. The ability to tap into the brains of others could provide such vast amounts of information Omi couldn't even imagine. But Omi could have prevented his father's death. If he had opened the security locks faster, if he had made the layout better he may have been able to save his father, Persia. But now Weiß had to stumble blindly through the most tolling mission of their lives without word of the mission beginning.

In a few days Weiß would get word of a kidnapping and the activities of Schwarz, but Omi would be long dead. He would be on those pictures handed to them for the mission briefing. The boy fought back the few tears working into his eyes. He didn't want to die. Much less by the hands of these crude bastards. Schuldich had been part of the operation to kill Omi as well as his father and even pulled the trigger for his own sister's death. He hated him from the rank abyss of his soul, but there was nothing he could do to keep from realizing that he would die by the German's hand just as Ouka had.

"No different," a timid voice muttered from the doorway as though to himself. "I've seen all of this before." Cerulean eyes shot up, turning over Omi's shoulder to meet with the helpless form of Nagi standing against the wall. His shoulders hunched and his hair fell in his face, blocking his eyes. "I don't want it to happen again. Don't make it happen again." Omi couldn't hold everything in any longer.

The older boy moved forward, pulling at the lapels of Nagi's jacket. "You fucking traitor!" Omi sobbed, tears rolling freely down his face and distorting the speech. "You promised me, I helped you and I listened to you and you drop me! You fucking traitor!" He shook Nagi fervently, pushing him into the cement wall, but the younger made no move to stop him. Omi felt his own grip ease and he slumped forward against the younger boy's shoulder. "You lied to me," he sobbed almost incoherently, "you said that you weren't a pet anymore. You said you wouldn't let me face what you did and you-- you said--" He fell to the ground, unable to continue, now sobbing without words into his own hands.

_I don't want to die... I don't want to be killed like this. It was never supposed to happen to me, not to me._... Nagi had fallen to the ground, a mirror of Omi. He sobbed into his hands, hardly making a sound above the sniffle though his shoulders shook violently. _Not because of you. I won't die because of you. I'll be saved. Yohji will save me_-- A thought occurred to him. What if Yohji had only wanted him for a bed partner? What if Nagi had been telling the truth_? No. No he was lying the entire time! Yohji loves me and he's going to rescue me. _The thought didn't stick no matter how he repeated it, and he found himself clinging to Nagi as the last form of comfort.

* * *

The usual four hours had passed since Yohji's concussion. In fact it had been closer to six hours, but he remained staring into the fireplace without bothering to look away. His breath was barely detectable other than by the slight rise and fall of his chest. At the beginning, Ken had worried. _It was only natural,_ he told himself, _to be in shock when your lover's been taken away, but... _He sighed and paused in cleaning his wounds. _Aya shouldn't have been so harsh with him. Yohji was only trying to save Omi's life. _The question was how to explain that to Aya. He didn't know that Yohji and Omi were together and Ken wasn't about to volunteer the information. If he wanted to know, he could go to Yohji since Omi was...

Ken decided not to think about it. Although Aya had long been his love interest, Ken prided himself with knowing almost everything about Omi. It used to be that if Omi wasn't on the computer, he was in Ken's room talking or watching the soccer games from the stands, ready to toss a Power Aid over the side for Ken or for one of his students depending on who was playing. Then Ken and Aya started spending more time together and Omi had been left alone to the apartment or to tending Yohji's hangover. He didn't seem to mind, but Omi had always put on fronts to make everything seem as though it was okay. Ken knew for a fact that things weren't even close.

He peeled the cotton of his shirt away from the wound, picking at the dried blood and the fabric that had made its way in. It was always a dirty business to clean up after a battle, so Ken had put it off until the last minute as he usually did. Only problem was that it just made things messier. He sat on the bed, wounds facing away from the door so that anyone who entered wouldn't be able to see, and pulled out a cloth from a bowl of water. The heat stung when it hit but Ken grit his teeth to distract himself. He was sure Yohji wouldn't ask questions if Ken cried out in reaction, but Aya had already returned from dropping off his sister and now occupied himself by making a make-shift dinner. Ken's guess was take-out.

Either way Ken continued to dab the cloth to his bare side, lifting his shirt the rest of the way off with the other hand. He flung it to the ground just as the knob on the door turned and was pushed open. Brown eyes drifted casually to the door where the crimson-haired man stood with a mug of what seemed to be coffee in either hand. The younger man smiled and accepted the cup, careful to keep his wounds away from Aya's gaze. "Thanks," he muttered. Ken sipped at it, making sure of its heat before gulping it down. It had been a hard night and Ken would welcome the company of the red-haired man who now seemed to be blindly fumbling with his words. Ken almost laughed, but abstained just long enough for Aya to find what he'd been looking for.

"Ken," he began a bit hesitantly, "back there I--" He stopped and turned warm lavender eyes to the younger man. "Thank you."

Ken's voice caught in his throat. Aya hardly ever thanked anyone, even Ken. A bit nervously the man shook his head, lowering his gaze to shade the confusion in his eyes. "I was worried..." He replied and lavender orbs shot up to look at the younger. "No one knew what had happened to you. I didn't know if they-- if you---" Fears rose to the surface of Ken's mind, floating into his eyes as they turned to Aya. Each image burned into his retinas. He fought to push the horrors away from him, but even still a few tears rose to the surface of his chocolate gaze. He quickly wiped them away. "I was afraid they'd gotten you, too. Like they did Omi." Ken attempted to inhale slowly and steadily, but it was a difficult procedure. He twisted the wet cloth in his hand to cover the small splotched of crimson blood.

Cool, violet eyes softened and Aya turned the younger to face him. Ken stammered for an explanation. "I know it wouldn't have made much sense-- with the ritual to be completed-- I just-- I couldn't stop thinking that--" A long finger stopped the motions of Ken's lips.

Amazing. Aya had never though that those lips could be so soft beneath the sensitive pad of his forefinger. He couldn't keep himself from wondering what they would be like against his own, although he fought to keep the musing away. It had just been an impulse nothing more. "Ken," his voice was hardly a whisper within the dark of the room, "I'm okay. Schwarz didn't need me for that. I was bait, Ken. I was supposed to lure Omi to them and it worked. They had the chance to kill me, skin me alive, even rape me, but if they had, it would have been my fault." He stared insistently, trying to convince the younger with only his gaze that he was right. Finally he let out a sigh. "I never should have left the shop."

Ken became suddenly stern. "No, you're wrong!" This was the difference between Omi and Ken: Omi would never bother to stand up to Aya when it was obvious that his leader was wrong. Ken had much more courage when it came to such things. "It wouldn't have been your fault at all. Just because you left doesn't mean that you deserve to be hurt. We all do stupid things and just one doesn't mean that the person deserves anything of what they got. Murder, rape, mutilation... all of them are caused by the abuser, not the victim!" The younger man caught himself, noting the guilt panging at his heart. He had no right to chastise his leader when he very nearly came face to face with a fate Ken couldn't bring himself to imagine. Ken shook his head and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Aya. He could hear that heartbeat, feel the breath from his lips and feel the heat from the lingering embrace and Ken knew that this was no dream.

The crimson-haired man felt his pulse quicken with Ken resting securely in his arms. He'd never thought that he'd find himself reacting to such a simple thing. Although, wasn't that what made him accept and even care for Ken? His simplicity? No, it couldn't be that. There was much more to Ken than met the eye and Aya felt now as though he had to protect every part of it, as though if only he held on tight enough he could make up for his anger, for his bitterness, for the ice still lining his heart. He buried his face in shampoo-scented hair and tightened his hold, only to feel the younger recoil. Something caught his eye as Ken moved away. There were gashes on his left side, leaking blood from the tight embrace. Aya almost cursed, he'd never mean to cause the younger harm. He reached forward, running a hand along the swollen flesh along the outside. "Ken, what happened?"

Ken inwardly cursed. _How can I tell him that I fell on my own weapon_ The man questioned. However, no excuse could cover for his own foolishness. He opened his mouth to explain, but was abruptly cut off by a stinging where Aya had applied the rag from Ken's hands. He sucked in a breath, more of a gasp than anything. He saw the older man flinch.

Ran hadn't expected for his companion to give such a reaction. Pale fingers pulled the cloth away. Perhaps something softer would limit the pain. Surely not Aya's hands. They would be much more callused from work than the rough cloth. He pondered a moment. Ken had chosen the softest of the rags and even still it was too stiff to be comfortable. Aya ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. That might help... He moved Ken into a laying position and placed his mug on the side table. He bent just enough for his face to hover above the abrasions. The man closed his eyes. His tongue ran along the edges of the wound, lapping up the crimson liquid. The copper flavor lingered on his taste buds, but Aya never flinched. Ken had begun to shiver. It was no wonder; it must have been cold in the midst of winter with only his bare skin. The older man held out his hand to Ken, who gripped at it for comfort.

If only Aya had known that the shivers weren't remotely from the cold... Distantly Ken wished that the caress had been for a different reason, but even so he fought to control himself. It stung just enough for Ken to be fully aware of the very thing Aya was doing. _It could almost be like bloodletting..._ Ken mused with another shiver, however the wounds had not been intentional. His fingers tightened with the thought onto those long, pale fingers. The sole of the older man's hand was callused along with his fingers, but it was far from the uncomfortable touch given by some. Ken gasped.

Apparently he'd missed one while inspecting his wounds. He wouldn't have thought that there would be a gash just below the pant line of his jeans. Now Aya had pulled down the denim with his free hand and traced his tongue down to clean that one as well as the others. Ken grit his teeth in the agonizing glory of disbelief. Here was the man he'd fallen for more than a year ago caring for him in a way he'd only dreamt about. Ken had become painfully aware of how close Aya was to the hardening appendage beneath the cover of his jeans. He was just about to give himself away with a moan when the older man pulled away.

Ken's lids were half-closed, lashes shading the dark depths. He had been breathing raggedly for a while now, the shivers growing more severe. His chocolate brown hair seemed black in the shadows and fell in disarray on his brow. At once he seemed exhausted and beautiful. Aya had never considered it before. However now, as the night sky shone blue against Ken's bare tan skin he was more gorgeous than anyone he'd seen in his life. Ran felt a certain longing that he'd never expected, but he dared not voice it as the younger stirred and licked his chapped lips. "Why did you do that?" Ken asked breathily.

Honestly, Aya had no answer. At least not one he could remember. Even if he'd had one earlier, it didn't matter much. All that mattered now was the war waging between his mind and the quickening pulse of his heart. He shook his head. "I don't know." Those seemed to be the wrong words. Ken closed his eyes and rolled onto his right side, hiding his face from Ran's lavender gaze. The older man sighed and sat up, unsure of how to rephrase his words. Why was it that this mattered to him so much? Just the simple motion given by Ken made his heart throb with guilt and something Ran guessed to be love? Lust?

There came a slight muttering from the pillow where the younger had buried his face. "Didn't mean for you to find out like this." Something curious had glimmered in Ken's leader's eyes, an acknowledgment of something beneath the surface of his gaze. Perhaps he knew now about Ken's harbored love. His heart beat wildly beneath his chest and the younger man prayed that Aya wouldn't hear it. This was the time to find out if all of his dreams were for naught. "I had hoped it would be in a peaceful time where we'd be able to work all of this out." He chuckled nervously. "In fact, I hadn't meant to tell you at all. You're a full grown man and you should be allowed to make your own choices..."

Ran's gaze had returned to the wounded man lying crumpled on the blankets of his bed. He looked more like a lost child than ever before, but a bit of determination hung in the nearly invisible depths of his brown eyes, fading into the shadows below them. "You shouldn't have to hear that one of the people closest to you aren't who you think," Ken continued, "And you especially shouldn't have to hear that friend ask you to come with him... because... He--" Aya stunned the younger to silence by lightly gripping his jaw and turning him to look into shadowed lavender depths. That gaze was searching for something, serious but gentle at the same time. For a moment all Ken could think of was how that smooth, marble skin would appear beneath the light of flickering candles. Would the light spread across that high cheekbone and shade the line of that chiseled nose, leaving those Asian bud-like lips to fade into the darkness just as subtlety as it would upon fabric? It seemed now that Ken had forgotten how to breathe. Those shadowed lavender eyes seemed so intense in the darkness, becoming the epitome of all his dreams rolled into one. Ken pulled up his tanned hand and ran it tenderly across a warm cheek and found the marble was not marble in the least, but felt soft to the touch. His thumb moved lightly against the silken skin beneath his eye. Carefully Ken traced a line from the edge of his jawbone to the corner of his mouth, lingering there for a moment before finding the bud-like lips press against the pad of his finger.

"Because he loves you..." Ran finished, lips brushing up against the finger lightly. His own thumb traced the younger man's lips, noting them for their masculinity. They were as soft as he'd felt before, but now he also felt the firmness of them, knew full well to whom they belonged and even more wished to kiss them long and full. Ran had never had time to have any sort of relationship. He'd always been too absorbed in Weiß or school or even his sister to notice anyone much less whom he preferred. Ran moved his hand up into the mess of chocolate locks and leaned forward, hovering just above Ken's lips. He could feel the moisture from his shallow breaths and understood fully how the younger felt. Ken's hand slid up to the back of Ran's neck, fingers entwining in the short crimson hairs there and pulled him down.

So long he'd waited for this moment, hoping and wishing that he wouldn't be rejected again. The first time had been with Kase and Ken thought himself to be as in love as possible. He'd slept with the man and soon after had been betrayed by him. More than anything Ken wanted to be loved, not used by the one he loved. Aya had filled in that pain with such ferocity that Ken had almost forgotten. That is until the threat of rejection came again. Only now, Ken would fight for his love. The heat of Aya's lips burned through him, making him stronger with each new kiss. Soon he found his tongue tracing the lines of Aya's lips. The older man didn't hesitate to allow entry, seeming almost thankful to not have to take the lead. Ken pushed up against the crimson-haired man, trading places with him on the bed. The smaller man worked his way above Aya and straddled him, only to bend down once more and retrieve the deepest most passionate kiss they had shared thus far.

Ken pulled away almost gasping for breath. His side ached, but he paid it no mind. He refused to allow such a menial thing to get in the way. His hands guided themselves to the edge of the white turtleneck, from which Aya hadn't had the chance to change from since the day of his kidnapping. Ken slid them beneath the fabric, lifting it enough to reveal the majority of the gorgeously pale stomach. He moved his head down, tracing his tongue along the lines of the muscle. Aya's chest had begun to rise and fall rapidly, almost urgent. Even still the younger teased, lifting the fabric over the man's chest and resting his mouth above the nipple. He merely breathed on it for many moments, allowing it to harden before he traced it just as he'd done before only now he contented himself by nipping at it and drawing moans from the crimson-haired man. Strangely enough Ken had never imagined doming the usually strong-willed man below him. He wondered now if he were the experienced one among the two, but pushed the thought away so as not to distract himself from the glorious feeling pushing against his lower abdomen begging for him to move further. Taunting himself, as well as the writhing Aya beneath him, Ken rocked forward, rubbing just once before continuing with the previous torture.

Now he ran his hands down the expanse of that firm stomach and plucked playfully at the button there, thus eliciting a moan from Ran. Ken paused, lips brushing up against the bare skin of Ran's chest as he spoke. "Are you sure you want to keep going?"

Ran inhaled and pulled one hand from the headboard where he'd been gripping and, grabbing Ken's hand from above the button and slid it down to be placed on the erection pressing dangerously hard against the denim. "What have I said about asking stupid questions?" Aya remarked as closely to his leader tone as he could get, but quickly gasped as Ken stroked the bulge, his eyes sliding half shut. Ken gave a satisfied nod at the reaction and unbuttoned the jeans, slipping them off with only a bit of difficulty, followed by the boxers. Meanwhile Ran worked to pull off what remained on his body of the turtleneck before leaning forward to help the younger man to peel the pants away from the single gash beneath them. Soon after, both sat bare on top of the rumpled white covers.

A slight smile crossed Ken's lips and he pulled his hand lightly across the smooth skin lining the older man's hip and upper thigh. He couldn't help but feel the warmth of his heart beating in love and joy. He slid forward, resting Aya's legs in the crook of his hip. Ken gave a small squeeze of comfort to the older man's thigh and bent forward, knowing that the years of soccer and deep stretching paid off. He moved first to the inner thigh, nipping lightly at the tender skin there. Already Ran's hands and been placed on the back of his head, urging him to move faster and relieve the intolerable high. He smiled and ran a finger beneath the length, drawing a moan. Somehow he'd known that it would drive the older man higher and so he did it again before replacing his finger with his tongue.

Aya had become a bit cold in the room once his clothes had been properly disposed of, but now the intense warmth of Ken's mouth made him break out into sweat nearly immediately. The combination of that lithe tongue running beneath him and the constricting of Ken's throat around him had already persuaded Ran to give in. If this was domination, he didn't mind. He hardly paid any thought to the single hand working its way towards his bottom. Perhaps Ken was trying to get a better grip? Aya raised himself just a bit to speed up the process and pushed himself further into Ken's mouth, pulling another groan from his lips. Even still those fingers ventured further, pressing into Aya and stretching his limits. He'd not expected this, but bit down on his lip to stay silent. He'd never expected to react like this, but he doubted anyone would have been able to help it under the tender command of Ken. Another finger was added, but now the stretching came as pleasure rather than the initial pain. The rhythm of Ken's mouth grew quick, drawing Aya into high rapture. His breath let out along with a deep-throated cry. He pushed against the younger man's head, urging him to go harder, faster. Teeth scraped lightly against the tender skin in time with the massaging tongue and constricting throat muscles around his length. Ken's brows furrowed and he nursed more fervently than before. Aya could feel his own heat rise up and he arched his back with a gasp. He was teetering on the precipice of euphoria and he longed savagely to fall from it. He rocked his hips forward and Ken, only having one hand to push against muscled thighs, couldn't hold him down. So close, so very close to falling--

Ken pulled away with an evil smirk. What would have been a whimper for anyone but Aya escaped his throat, but the younger man's smile broadened. "Turn over... Don't worry, okay?" The fingers were pulled away and rubbed rapidly on the sheets. As Ran shifted to roll, Ken sifted through his drawers to pull out a tube of what seemed to be a sort of lotion and he rubbed it along his own throbbing length. Half-masted lavender eyes stared out from beneath dark lashes and Ran rose to meet level with Ken's hips. The younger placed tan callused hands on soft, pale skin and gently pushed forward.

Ran gave what almost could have been a growl. His back arched just so, hands wrapped firmly around the poles on the headboard. The shadows rippled along his muscles in an enticing way, almost making Ken shiver. Ran was tight, almost unbearably so. The warm womb of his insides wrapped around him snugly, but each pulse of blood beat softly against him, enticing him higher. He pulled out just enough to push back in. He did this slowly so as not to overload the older man who was now biting his lip in an undeniable blur of pleasure-pain. Ken pulled away again, but this time Aya pushed back to meet him, moving up as far as he could until his eyes shot open and a pain-filled smile crossed his lips. A tan hand traced along Aya's back, palm laying flat against the spine. Again he pulled back and again Aya pushed to meet him, this time with a choked cry.

The initial pain had long passed and Ran lay in complete elation. The feel of that callused hand along his back merely reminded him of his bareness and he became, if possible, harder than he'd been moments before. The air was cold against his length, but it did nothing more than heighten the eroticism of the entire situation. He could feel Ken pull away and, in a panic, pushed back up against him. Something hit inside him, the concentrated epitome of pleasure. This was so much more than Aya could have ever possibly imagined. He bit his lip and pressed back against Ken's hips again, the intensity of the pleasure-pain intensifying and making his insides flop and writhe against the butterflies within them. This time he allowed the slightest bit of a moan escape his lips in a plea for more. Now Ken needed no more urging and Aya's mind reeled at the tightening of the grip on his thighs, pulling him back forcefully to hit that same beautiful spot again. "Ken..." The older man moaned, his deep voice echoing just slightly against the bare walls of the room.

This almost forced Ken into a frenzy. To hear that voice call out his name in such longing and so full of need was so much more than any of his dreams could have made them out to be. _This is no dream._ Ken reminded himself driving in a bit faster now and only slightly harder. _This is reality_... He pushed in again, drawing a cry from Aya and he felt his brows furrow. The friction between Aya and himself was perfect, they fit flawlessly now that Aya had relaxed. His breath came harder, faster with the beat he and Aya had created between them. It was a rhythmic, erotic dance shared between only them. It continued, pulling cries from them both as Ken rose higher and higher into the darkness that he knew would give way to the beautiful, white fall from Heaven. Aya's knuckles had faded ivory with the clenching of his fists and Ken's only reasonable thought pitched in. One hand slithered down, stroking the fleshy length hidden between Aya's legs, then moved up and without warning gripped the base. Aya gave a remorseful cry, showing that Ken had caught him just in time. Even still he continued pumping in that eternal pulse. He could feel the heat from his skin and the approaching height, pulling higher and higher, almost reaching climax. Sweat dripped from his chin, landing on the base of Aya's back and ran down his spine where it remained in the valley of his arched back. Ken could no longer hear either Aya's heavy breathing or his own choked-off moans. All he knew was the encroaching darkness. Then he was enveloped in the black cloak of it and felt his seed shoot out. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. "Ran..." It was the first time Ken had used his leader's true name, the syllable rolling off his tongue without a thought.

Ken was warm, almost unnaturally so. He could feel cloth as well as skin and everything had been balanced on his left side. Foggy brown eyes opened only to see warm, a concerned violet gaze gleaming beneath furrowed brows. Aya's lips moved, but Ken at first didn't understand what it was he was saying. It all seemed to be a blur. "Nn...?" He questioned, shifting just a bit on the bed to nestle himself in the crook of Aya's arm.

"Are you okay?" Came the deep-throated reply. Ken nodded, his mind finally returning to him. Surely Ran hadn't climaxed yet. Ken hadn't allowed him to... What with the intensity of it all, Ken doubted that he'd let his grip loosen. He moved his fingers just slightly and found them still wrapped firmly around the shaft. It was indeed as hard, if not harder, than it had been before hand. With his thumb the traced what he could of the length and Aya tensed.

"Ayan..." Ken murmured against that beautiful, pale skin. "We need to take care of you, too." He heard Aya's breath catch in his throat, but with his free hand he reached for the lotion and smeared it along the stiff length. "To tell you the truth... I'm not a very good at being on top..." He conversed quietly, moving Aya's unsure fingers behind him. "So... I was hoping that I could teach you to do it since you are the more aggressive of us." His distant eyes twitched just slightly as the probing fingers entered. "It just... works out better that way. Besides... I know more than anyone how much you like control, so I'm pretty sure that once you get the hang of it you'll enjoy it much more than what I could ever do for you." He nipped playfully at the bared nipple of his older companion and traced the fingers of his free hand up Aya's spine, passing through the droplets of sweat found there. He could feel Aya shiver against him and he knew that the older couldn't hold out much longer at this rate. Ken pulled away from Aya's fingers and pushed the crimson-haired man to sit upright. He lay down on his back, slowly releasing his grip on Aya.

Fogged violet eyes widened as Ken pulled his own bare legs over Aya's shoulders and settled himself on the older man's lap. The need pulled at Ran harder than he'd believed possible. For so long nothing had ever mattered but protecting his family. Of course, he'd always been told that he'd find love in the least likely places. Ran pushed himself into Ken, feeling the ring tighten around him. At first it seemed painful, trying to fit himself into what seemed to be a small area, however it expanded to accomidate. Ken gave a purr of approval that made Aya's stomach flip. He couldn't ignore the violent need any longer and so he tightened his grip on Ken's thighs and pushed in.

* * *

There was no doubt in Yohji's mind what was happening in the opposite room. Everything was right for it. They knew he wouldn't move to disturb them and, with no Aya-chan there to interrupt, either, the chances of any trouble was slim to none. Even so, each dim moan or cry for the other's name struck home in the playboy's heart. He should have been happy for Ken, having to wait so long to even get their leader to notice him as anything more than a companion. However it hurt him to know that they could hold each other safely in their arms and never let go to face the horrible reality that was the world.

Yohji had never thought that he'd have to face such a cold, unfeeling truth as the one Aya had pounded into him on this night. He'd always thought he could hold on tight to Omi and nothing would happen. He thought that if he locked him up he could keep him away from the dangers that would cause his death. If only he could have known... if only he could have answered correctly. If only... If only Nagi hadn't taken him away from his hiding place safe in the confines of the apartment. No placing the blame now. This was Yohji's fault, no one else's. He could have refused to answer, declined the game and moved into a fight. Maybe then they would have had some sort of a chance.

No. Yohji was the fool and he had to choose all of the bad decisions. Every word that came out of his mouth had been a mistake. First with Asuka, then with Omi. So many times it had happened to Omi. Now Yohji's foolishness had caused the inevitable death of the one person he cared about. The fire had flickered to hardly an ember. Yohji guessed that it was roughly three or four in the morning and finally the lustful moans had subsided to leave Yohji in his silent misery. He blinked dark lashes over cold, green eyes. He had no choice but to move on. So he pulled himself from the couch and gathered a coat into his arms and strode out the door, not caring to change out of his crop top and fighting pants.

It was indeed cold. Perhaps more so than Yohji would have believed. _Had I not been sitting by the fire while Omi was-- No_. He caught himself. _I can't think about him. I can't; he's as good as dead and I can't let it drag me down_. There was something pulling at his heart that he'd never really found. It was the lingering guilt of Asuka's death and the self-blame that came along with it and now, Yohji found, he was responsible for another loss. He shivered and slung the coat over his shoulder, heading for his car. If Omi had to withstand so much now that Yohji had failed, the older man would surely take his share of discomfort for his memory.

He opened the door to his car and climbed in, strapping himself with the seatbelts before turning the key in the ignition. The one way to get his mind off of things was to do something he'd not considered in almost a year. Even so, Yohji remembered the directions downtown as easily as if he'd been just yesterday. Of course, he hadn't. He'd been meeting with that boy. Nagi, Yohji mentally hissed. He'd never known hatred could be so strong. No, it had passed hatred and Yohji now abhorred the young Asian boy. He'd taken Yohji's most precious possession and delivered him right into the hands of those he'd been trying to hide the boy from. The blonde man knew that he should be blaming this on the eldest of them, that American man. He'd probably Seen Omi lying helpless and alone and sent Nagi to fetch him. However, this didn't offer any comfort in the matter so he turned up the radio.

It had been programmed to pick up stations all around the world and now there was a song playing, one Yohji knew almost by heart. The American lyrics poured from the radio to match Yohji's moving lips, shadowed occasionally by a road light or the moon (when it came from behind the clouds to peek onto the sleeping world below.) The dim piano echoed from the speakers, just loud enough for the stoic driver to hear over the wind whipping at his hair. _Every night, you wrote another line with a bloody, broken bottle. And every day you'd wish it away. Why don't you pull the pin on that grenade you coddle? _Every night Omi could be found sitting up at night, typing on the computer on what seemed to be a journal. A few times a person could glimpse words strung together, trying to say a message that he wished no one to understand. Suicide: if a person looked hard enough they could find the boy wishing, praying for it all to end, for the world to just fade away.

_I wanted to believe, bodies swinging from trees, struggling to stand_. Were these the visions the young man saw while drifting to sleep? Each person he'd killed, tortured as he'd been and left in agony. What if they had never died at all? What if they had lived? _With your head in your hands... A stoic last stand of a dying man_. Even now Yohji could see the blonde boy sitting on the edge of a precipice, covering his face to ward away the death just on the other side.

_I wanted to believe as I watched your world crumble in your hands._ _I wanted to believe as you raised a glass to your last stand_... The visions enveloped his thought, showing the pictures of the blonde-haired cherubim as he'd been in the past few days. He seemed no different than ever, but something shone beneath that smile. It seemed to be a constant struggle, but he'd convinced everyone that he'd won, that he'd conquered his anger, fear, his emotions all-together.

Tears had begin to well up in Yohji's eyes but were promptly blown dry by the wind. _And I wanted to believe you would win the war in your head that I did not understand_. The guilt built once more in Yohji's chest. He never should have confessed his love to that cherub. He'd been wounded, had his wings broken and his innocence buried and even still Yohji had forced his love on one who was still coming to terms with his life. Yohji still hadn't understood. It had been so long since that night in the alleyway with Asuka. He'd forgotten how hard the battle was. _Every night the questions poured out of your wounded eyes, damned dark things. And every day you used to pray, listened to the black raven sing_. He'd seen those questions the first night and paid no attention. He'd seen the pain and the agony and the racing questions of himself and Yohji had ignored them all. Each day Omi would stare out the window blankly as though listening to the distant ringing of death bells but no one paid any attention. Perhaps he'd heard the call of the red-haired man and stood waiting for his day to come. So many things just pouring out of the dark cerulean depths to stare into the unexpecting eyes of those who watched, but they never saw. They refused to see until it was too late.

_You wanted to believe as you were falling to your knees, struggling to stand with your life in your hand; the sad last stand of a broken man_. All of it had been against his will, and he'd surely fought it tooth and claw against the controlling haze of the youngest of them. He must have tried to get away, tried to run from the pain and the guilt if only to save his own life. Yohji's own words echoed back to him in a haze, blocking out what he knew to be the chorus. 'You could have been killed Omi. You're lucky that Farfarello didn't tear you apart.' But he'd wanted to believe that he'd won... even though he'd lost everything. He'd lost everything except his life and Yohji supposed that made him a winner. The man reached to the radio and stoicaly changed stations.

The background music held voices screaming, yelling about pushing someone down and holding them, holding them down on the ground. Images flew into Yohji's mind; pictures of Omi thrown nude into the snow, blood trailing from his back to drip onto discolored, swollen hands. A hard shock was sent directly to his chest and Yohji wished to change the station. The slow song had made far too much connection, but was now replaced by the screaming of men. "I'll cut you down, they will never find out!" The pictures remained, the bloodied form of a boy being approached by a dim shadow. He reached over to the radio and hurriedly shut it off to drive in silence along the road.

Yohji wiped the tears from his eyes, placing on the mask he'd worn so often. He stepped out of the car and strode down the street, head held high. Women in tattered clothes crowded the street corners where light remained, fighting to stay out of the shadows. The man didn't blame them. Dangerous things lurked in the night. Even so, separate from the women was a young man standing against the wall, hands in the pockets of familiar black shorts. The bill of a cap covered his face, but a few blonde locks fell from the cover of the cap. With a quick breath the man hurried over, sure not to break his masquerade. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Hey," came the warning voice. "Didn't you know not to touch the merchandise?" It most certainly wasn't Omi, but as the young man looked up, Yohji saw the same round face that must have once seemed innocent. Even so, dark, Asian eyes stared up from beneath the cap. They were eyes of someone who had seen far too much.

"How much?" Yohji questioned, the smile on his face fading.

* * *

Nagi could feel the cold wall through the cloth of his shirt. He gazed up just past Schuldich's eyes. He allowed the probes to search as deeply as they pleased. The game had been up with Schuldich when he'd brought Omi in unbound. Now he was pinned against the wall, jade chips unfocused in anger and concentration. A sneer grew on the German's face. Nagi could tell the man was just about ready to hit something. Nagi had never felt jealousy on the other side of the probes, but now it rang loud and clear. Jade orbs refocused and Schuldich stifled a growl. "He's going to die, you know." Yes, Nagi knew. He knew full well of the fate he'd brought on the innocent boy. "We're going to kill him. We'll get our immortality whether you like it or not, because you're the last point of the star." It had been understood for a long time, that even if Nagi refused to take up immortality that he'd be forced to accept. "Then you'll have to learn to like us, not just obey us." There was something else, almost read from the other side of the probes, as 'I'll teach you to love me.'

"You have to finish your mission, Prodigy. You may not think that I'm your master, but if you betray me, the others will hear of it. Have no doubt that where I have patience for your infatuation, Farfarello surely wouldn't." Schuldich leaned down, face mere inches from the much younger boy's. "As of now, you're lucky Crawford hasn't had any Visions." He pulled away and pointed to the door where the sacrifice had been placed. "Now get in there and do what needs to be done!" This last was a snarl, but Nagi refused to flinch. Instead he calmly strode to the door and placed his hand on the knob.

_I'll do it, master, but only if you leave_. Nagi turned, eyes on the ground, but obviously firm. _As in keep your probes to yourself_. This last was with such force that Schuldich recoiled and Nagi hurried inside. The German pulled himself to his feet. "It seems as though that Kitten gave you an attitude when he stole your heart." Brows furrowed deeply over icy jade chips he turned. "The Takatoris really are ungrateful. They always want more than what they have... but this Kitten won't get to keep it."

* * *

Orchid fingers passed fondly over the figurine resting against them. The jade figure smiled warmly upward, round, smooth stomach symbolizing either great wealth or great poverty. The figurine was flipped and turned over in those delicate hands as the owner searched for some impurity upon the polished surface. It seemed to hold none save the small carving in the bottom of the sculptor's name. This Buddha was almost the exact make as his own, however the small chip that had been knocked out of the foot was still intact. Omi sighed, warmly smiling at the gift resting securely in his hands. It had only been a few hours since he and Nagi had lay on the floor, bawling into each other's arms. Then something remarkable had happened: they had found comfort in each other. Pain filled eyes gazed at each other with such familiarity that one would think that they had been mirror images of each other. The Asian boy had then pulled out this beautiful sculpture, the same make as Omi's favorite, and handed it to him saying. "This will give you some comfort. When you think too hard about my mistake, hold onto it and he'll help you."

It had most certainly been Nagi's mistake that drove him here, but even more so was it Omi's fault. He could have just as easily declined the offer as to accept. Even now Omi couldn't help but wonder if he'd made the better choice. Sure he'd escaped from his 'team mates' into the hands of the enemy, but surely death would be better than being used by those he'd learned to trust. Nagi really had been his only way out of that situation and he should be thankful for that. So now Omi flipped the figurine in his hands only to hear the silent click of the door.

His eyes shot up, almost automatically in a rage. However the deep, sad blue eyes reflecting his expression softened his glare and he felt rather guilty. Without much more to do Omi retuned to flipping the Buddha between his fingers and surveying the folds in different lights. It hardly helped to distract him from the twisting of his stomach beneath the smooth skin of his belly or even the butterflies trying to force themselves out. Something about Nagi made him anxious, neither in a good or a bad way. However when the younger voice spoke it became obvious to what he'd been sent to do and Omi understood he'd be helpless to resist. "I'm sorry."

Omi stopped moving the idol, staring at it without seeing the smooth, round belly. "They sent you to finish what you started, didn't they?" No reply, but the silence was enough to convince Omi that he'd hit right on the button. "I see."

"I promise you that if I had another choice I would take it." Nagi approached, kneeling at the edge of the bed. "You see, if I don't do this... If I don't do this Schwarz will find out and both of us will be killed without regard. As it is, I think I may be able to get you out before the sacrificial date." It looked to be tearing the younger man apart just thinking about it, but he strained to make it seem like a casual conversation. "A slim chance is better than none."

"Nagi?" Omi was sure to address him by using his name since none of the Schwarz members did so often. "Why are you trying to help me?" There was a shocked expression in those deep, universal eyes. The boy worked his mouth silently but could come up with no safe reason to give. "Because I'm like you, right?" Silence and again "I see." He placed the Buddha on the table next to the bed and offered a hand up to Nagi, who took it and climbed onto the cushions. "You can't disobey orders and there's no use in my fighting anymore." He crouched down, sliding a cool hand beneath the fabric of Nagi's shirt. His stomach almost shrank away from the touch, but relaxed into it. _He's the only one I can trust anymore. He's the only person who's honest to me and at least I know what's coming to me_.

Rosebud lips brushed across the soft surface of Nagi's stomach. Omi's own jerked and jolted with anxiety. He didn't know what he had to be afraid of. Surely the younger boy wouldn't hurt him for anything he did wrong like the others had. Now he felt the younger ease back against the headboard and knew that his mind must be reeling as well. If he was anything like Omi had suspected, then the boy wasn't used to being coddled like this. Too bad he didn't know that the Weiß man was merely biding his time until his stomach calmed down and adjusted to this new idea.

Of course, as he unbuttoned the younger man's shirt he received a pang in his heart. Those dark eyes seemed confused, almost afraid. He felt sorry for Nagi. Everything he'd been forced to deal with seemed to be adding up here and Omi wanted more than anything to prove that it didn't have to be a bad experience. He straddled Nagi's hips, timidly planting a kiss on his lips before moving down to rest his head against his chest, listening to the heavy heartbeat. "You really don't want to do this, do you?" Nagi shook his head. "It doesn't have to be bad, you know." What did Omi know? His only experience with such things had been under the heavy, commanding hands of Schwarz. "I have no more shame, Nagi. I'll do whatever you ask me to and if I don't, I give you permission to make me." He was going to die soon anyway; he may as well sell his soul.

The soothing tone of Omi's voice rang gorgeous in the nearly empty room. He looked even more now like the angel from whom he'd received his name. Nagi could have confessed his love right then and there. The mere infatuation had grown enormously in the past day and, as Nagi laid here beneath the calm gaze, he admitted to himself that he'd do anything for him. He shook his head and leaned forward, pushing Omi down to lay flat on the bed. "Stop it." He ordered, gaze hard. "This is the last way I want to see you. I don't want to cage you; I don't want you to submit to being a pet. What I want is you. I want to know who you are, not who I am." He allowed this to settle in, waiting as Omi's eyes softened and took on the look they gave his closest companions. Nagi knelt down, pulling at the hem of the tightly knit black shirt with his teeth. At least this he had experience in.

Upon reaching Omi's ribcage, Nagi placed his hands beneath the fabric and pulled it off the rest of the way, revealing tanned and toned flesh. He'd already changed into the mindset so as not to think about what he was doing. Habit and experience now took control, hands slipping beneath the waistband of the dark jeans. Pearlescent teeth clicked against the metal of the button, causing vague metallic taste to spread throughout the boy's mouth, nearly reminiscent of blood. The button slipped from the hole and Nagi took the tab of the zipper in his teeth, sliding it down with ease before planting a few kisses along the barely covered erection beneath the thin veil of Omi's boxers.

"Nagi--" The older man choked out, propping himself up with his elbows, back arched. He'd never expected that it could possibly be enjoyable. Surely he could have convinced himself had he thought about it, but the sheer memories of his last experience with it made him horribly uncomfortable, especially since he'd never expected to react to a male. Now a slight moan escaped his throat against the pressure on him. Omi could feel himself harden beneath the heavy scrutiny of Nagi's lips. His head had become fogged and his vision burred, only able to focus on the deep, lustful eyes gleaming up at him.

Fingers traced the shape delicately from outside the fabric. Nagi pulled his head up to watch the older man fight for breath. He could feel a laugh tug at his lips, but years of experience told him that it would be a bad time to allow that to slide. Crawling on top, Nagi straddled the boy's hips and crouched down to plant small kisses along his collarbone until he met the junction of it with Omi's lithe shoulder. There he nibbled the skin and rubbed gently against the growing erection beneath him. The rocking forced Omi to become completely aware of what Nagi was half clad in. The school outfit hung loose around his shoulders and the pants clung dangerously tight around the thighs and waist. He spasmed just slightly, hips grinding together with delicious friction.

Nagi's lips trailed down to a hard nipple, flipping the piercing with his tongue ever so lightly before taking it between his teeth and tugging just hard enough to sharpen the senses. Omi choked out another cry thus driving Nagi further into his reverie. His thin hands slid beneath the waistline of the boxers, plucking at the elastic before completely removing both boxers and pants with one mental pull. The telekinetic hovered just inches above Omi, refusing to drop his hips back down to meet with the bare ones. Instead he allowed a small smile to escape his lips and they lifted from the bed into the air.

The air against bare skin had become incomprehensible to Omi's light-headed thoughts. Omi had been completely revealed and now hovered inches away from euphoria or death. Such a thing only made Omi more willing to accept whichever came. Nagi pulled him into his arms and cradled him at a slight angle. The older man's legs entwined themselves against Nagi's but the younger had a better plan. He pulled away just slightly, hands resting firm on Omi's hips. The contact sent cold shocks through Omi's body and he tensed at the warm breath inside his thighs. _Pleasepleasepleaseplease_... This word repeated itself inside Omi's mind and the need was so strong that the boy could hardly contain it.

Then the world flipped upside-down. Omi hovered near the ceiling, looking down on the bed and floor and, most noticeable of all, Nagi's eyes. They surrounded him, becoming the walls and the floor and the ceiling and everything else. His voice caught in his throat, but then the warmth returned to his thighs.

Nagi smiled, pleased by the reaction of allowing Omi to see what he saw, but there was no time to revel in it. He placed his lips around the tip of the hard member and ran his tongue along the full length of the underside where it was sure to be the most sensitive. It left a cold, wet trail along the skin, but the air would do a bit of his job for him. He sent out small tendrils of his mind to caress every trigger point possible. Behind the ear, nibbling at the collarbone, tugging and twisting lightly against the hard pink nubs of nipples then the light tracing of the cleft between Omi's buttocks; each gesture deserved special attention that Nagi wouldn't be able to give otherwise. He twirled his tongue around the tip in his mouth, exhaling as he did so. He could feel the older boy shiver when the breath ran up the length of his member. "Nn--" came the vague reaction, unable to comprehend everything happening at once. Omi placed tender hands on the back of Nagi's head. This was all the urging he needed to completely swallow Omi's length. His teeth grazed just slightly on the lower half, pulling a heavy gasp from the older boy.

Cerulean eyes went out of focus completely, believing the walls to be nonexistent (perhaps they were lost in the endless spectrum of the universe) but he rocked forward as best he could, held down by Nagi's amazingly strong hands. The dark head bobbed just slightly, tongue and throat massaging his member. It was wonderful, intoxicating. In a way he didn't want anymore, he wanted the release, he wanted to feel himself fall. However the torture of it begged for more, aching to feel it just a bit harder, just a bit faster and more intense. He moaned and pressed down on Nagi's head, begging for more. He continued at the same pace as before, openly refusing to do anything beyond what he was. Each individual sensation added up, the tickling at his back and the rough twisting on his nipples flipped his stomach harder until it sank out of existence, but still he wanted even more. He felt as though he were climbing a ladder, each prong just appearing before he couldn't stand still any longer. It climbed higher and higher, refusing to allow him down until he reached the absolute top. He could see the top now and he climbed higher to reach it, but the final prong never came, something held him away from it with cool, nagging fingers. "A--"

Nagi pulled away with a scolding chuckle. His pants fell away and the school uniform shirt fell open around his elbows. With those dark eyes turned down, gazing through black lashes Omi understood now how he'd known to do so many things a mere week ago. Nagi must have had years of practice beneath Schwarz and who knew where else he'd learned these things. He was the epitome of everything Omi could have imagined to be erotic.

Now came the part Nagi was uneasy with. He'd been a pet for so long that thinking on his own was hardly acceptable in any situation. He refused to allow that to show on his face and instead concentrated on switching their positioning. He watched Omi's half-masted eyes as he moved. They seemed fogged, lustful and on the verge of collapse. He reminded himself that it would be over soon enough and they could be free to think about escaping. These thoughts nearly pulled him out of the mind frame and Nagi immediately shook himself. He slid two nimble digits past the constricting circle of muscle despite the shocked gasp from his partner. He pulled the older man to rest against him, wiping the sweat from his brow as he scissored and slipped in another nimble finger. He shushed Omi slightly, planting a kiss on the top of his head. "It's okay. I promise I won't hurt you." Omi moaned and pressed against the fingers.

Of course Nagi, with a shifting glance conjured up a thin tube and it applied its own contents along Nagi's length. With a nod of approval it replaced itself. Nagi pulled his fingers away from Omi who gave a mournful cry. "Sh-- it's alright, angel." He positioned himself slightly beneath Omi and eased the boy onto his lap, pressing gently into his entrance. The older man almost seemed to melt into Nagi's grip, whimpering slightly. Omi grit his teeth, nearly smiling. He felt almost comfortable with this, the extra appendage seemingly natural inside of him. The initial pain had passed, a bit more striking than he'd imagined having not completely healed.

"Nn..." He leaned his head back to rest against Nagi's shoulder. Half-masted lids shifted closed and Omi bit his lip. This caused Nagi's almost flawless self-control to fade. He pulled out just a bit before forcing his way back in, thus eliciting a moan from his older companion. Nagi shushed him, not because he didn't enjoy the sound but because he didn't want to be pulled into a greater frenzy than Omi could handle. He planted a kiss on Omi's healing back and repeated the slight pumping motion. This time there only came an exhale and a tightened grip on Nagi's thighs. The younger man swallowed, pushing in deeper from reflex. For a moment he thought he'd made a great mistake, but the next time around the blonde boy pushed down as far as he could go, thus allowing release to all his breath and causing a near purring sound to escape his throat. It seemed this Angel had grown used to pain.

"Nagi--" The older man muttered as his fingers tightened around slim, pale thighs, "I'm not going to break." His eyelashes shaded those sapphire orbs just enough to create the perfect view of lust shining in his eyes. Without regards now Nagi pushed in harder and faster than before, making sure to hit the ultimate pleasure point deep within. Sweat began to bead on his face and shoulders as he continued this procedure. His hands gripped Omi's hips firmly to pull him down into the thrusts. Any extra mental power went to holding back the incredible surge of climax threatening to break through. "A--!"

Omi teetered on the precipice, unable to fall no matter how hard he wished it. This feeling teased him, pleaded with him to let it go, but Omi had no control over it. He stared down the rungs of the ladder, ready to jump but he couldn't move further, couldn't step down in the least. "N-Nagi!" He cried out, pleading for more, to speed up the unbearable pace. The butterflies filled his stomach and trailed further down his abdomen, spreading through the base of his immensely hard member, but continuing no further. It felt like there was a wall blocking him from continuing, keeping him in the same place until the right moment. A hand slid over the top of his thighs, making his stomach flop along with the rest of the butterfly-infested region, and gripped the length resting between his legs, stroking and moving up and down the shaft in time with the increasing speed of their rhythm. Omi hurt. The need beat so strong into him that it struck him into frenzied pleasure.

He screamed, pleading with the younger just to let him fall, to let him go and then the most remarkable thing happened. Omi was filled with gorgeous warmth and the wall that had been holding him still fell. The blonde boy tipped off the precipice and fell into a chaotic swarm of colors, each surrounding him and bursting before fading away to leave him in complete darkness. His throat clenched off last time and he fell forward, eyelids slamming shut and leaving him unseeing.

Nagi had lost his concentration with his own climax, hardly noticing that he'd given into those beautiful pleas. Of course Nagi knew better than anyone that it had been Omi's voice that sent him over the edge. So many years with Schuldich and the rest of Schwarz had not left him unscathed to a few of the same enjoyments as they. With Omi's collapse Nagi pulled away, slowly lowering them onto the bed with weak, yet steady arms. The blonde cherub lay peaceful against the white sheets of the bed, seeming more the angel now than he'd ever been. Though he knew that he should be proud for finding that he could give this angel such pleasure, Nagi was disgusted. He felt more disgusted with himself than he'd even imagined he could feel. He'd fowled the innocent angel, making it so he couldn't help but enjoy Nagi's company. Each mental trigger and brush of the hand echoed in his mind and it left a sour taste in Nagi's mouth.

A pale hand pulled open a drawer and revealed washrags and a bottle of water. He dampened the rags and wiped away the cum from the resting angel's tan skin then did the same with his own. There was nothing left to do but report. He didn't want to be there when Omi woke to find what he'd done. Even the mental image of the ashamed, guilty face nearly made Nagi wretch. To keep his mind off of it, he pulled on his pants and buttoned his shirt, slowly stepping out the door so as not to wake the sleeping man.

* * *

Chuckling sounded as a greeting to the dark-haired boy as he exited the room. Nagi's eyes turned to the ground, waiting for the owner of that assaulting voice to show himself. "It's done." The young man said to the figure lurking in the shadows.

"I know," came the deep reply. A white suit revealed itself first from the darkness followed by a slightly smiling face and know-all brown eyes. "It seems as though even a child can make that angel scream. Perhaps he's weaker than I thought." Hands in his pockets, the American circled Nagi with a scrutinizing gaze. "You know it undermines our work when you can make him scream louder than we could. Surely you used a mental trick."

Nagi brushed the hair out of his face and looked up to meet Brad's gaze. "Of course not. You know I can't concentrate in that kind of situation. I'm just better in bed than all of you." That almost made him laugh, but Nagi refused to show even a bit of humor to this disgraceful human. "Sometimes it's best to bide your time and not go bounding off like any boorish, lustful animal."

The smile faded and Brad's arms crossed. "That's not how you got him to do it and you know it. You love him, don't you Prodigy?" Nagi gave no reply. Surely Schuldich had given him in. If Brad hadn't gotten any visions thus far he certainly wouldn't now... would he? "I see. Falling for the enemy is treason, Prodigy. We could kill you for it. Certainly no one would mind placing you under the whip and chains." Silence again. Nagi had learned that in times like this it was best not to interrupt. He stood mute, staring straight forward into the abyss that mirrored his eyes. "Sadly we need you to finish this ceremony. After that you can receive whatever torture Farfarello can muster up. At least then we don't have to worry about your funeral. I hear sodomy hurts Kami-sama." He smiled and turned. "I've had a Vision. The sacrifice will not be taken away, Prodigy. You will be with Schuldich or myself for the rest of the evening. As for now, load him up. We're heading for the ritual grounds."


	6. Detain the Inevitable

Cigarette Juice Box

Chapter 6: Detain the Inevitable

WARNING! Violence and angst. That is ALL.

* * *

_Let me forget, God. Wipe away my happiness, my sorrow. Leave me empty..._ The shadows engulfed almost everything, leaving the hotel room almost unrecognisable as such. It heightened the foreign atmosphere, making it nearly thick enough to touch with bare hands. Moonlight barely streamed through the thin separations in slatted windows, the strange blue light flowing through as a distant reminder of the waxing full moon. The inhabitants however refused to notice such a menial thing, or at least Yohji forced his mind to think elsewhere.

His foot closed the door with a simple motion and the tall man pressed against the younger until his back rested against the wall. The cap came off first. Neither of them could see around the bill, causing an awkward barrier between them. Once this had been disposed of, Yohji leaned in to trail kisses along the man's throat. His lithe, moist tongue left a cool trail against the tanned skin. Small hands entwined themselves in the long, blonde locks, pulling Yohji's head closer to where the boy knew there to be a sweet spot.

More than anything the tall man found that he should have gotten himself drunk before coming here. Perhaps not raving, out of consideration for the prostitutes just trying to make a living, but enough so he could fully mistake this one for Omi himself. Now he felt the difference plainly, though he hadn't seen so much at fist glance. The man's skin had a pinker tint to Omi's olive and Omi's waist had been just a bit thinner, widening out with frail, feminine hips. This boy seducing him in the darkness felt far too willing, far too ready to do his bidding and all that Yohji could imagine was that smiling boyish face teasing him in the flower shop about one thing or another. The guilt stung at him.

Yohji doubled his efforts, placing long-fingered hands on the man's waist, lifting him into the air where he wrapped slender legs around Yohji and teased at the tight crop-top shirt clinging to Yohji's body. The prostitute let out a laugh, something vaguely erotic and usually enticing that he normally called the sex laugh. "You know, you're really good at this." The stranger lowered himself to bite at Yohji's ear. "What say we cut to the chase, mister."

Disgust coursed through the assassin's gut. "My name's Yohji."

"Yohji..." The man above him crooned almost lovingly. "It's a gorgeous name. I'll be much obliged to say it for you, if you like." Again came the sensual chuckle. "Of course, you'd have to have a beautiful name to match its owner. Not that it matters, but when I saw you I was thinking to myself 'What luck. I've got stallion tonight...'" The man gave a moan as he trailed his hand down Yohji's body to brush the small of his back. _Keep talking, just keep talking... _Yohji thought to himself, almost daring the whore to continue. "I'm having a hard time waiting to see what kind of work you do." Tactfully the prostitute shifted to rub his buttocks where there should have been a rock hard erection. He paused. "What's wrong, Yohji-kun?"

The nickname and the tone of worry rang far too familiar. Yohji's mind was sent reeling, images of Omi smiling at him, replacing the look of this whore in his arms. Each muscle readjusted as they would around his boyishly blonde companion. He no longer saw the prostitute, but Omi urging him to do as he would. This time he seemed unmarred by the pain coursing through his body and the need to prove himself to be nothing but dirty money. His heart softened and Yohji felt himself harden in reaction to the images flooding into his mind of this being Omi resting lustily in his arms. Yohji's gold-flecked green eyes readjusted as they would for his companion and he smiled. "Nothing's wrong." In a few steps he'd reached the bed and he placed Omi on it gently. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

The blonde man purred. "You have no idea, Yohji-kun." The older man nodded and gave a lidded smile. He seemed so enthusiastic. Maybe he was feeling better after-- after what? Yohji supposed that whatever had happened didn't matter. He picked lightly at the button on Omi's shorts then worked to unzip them. There were no undergarments to block his full on view of Omi's erection. Yohji hovered over it before planting a small kiss along the sensitive flesh. Omi shivered in pleasure and pulled the older man closer. Hands placed on delicate hips, Yohji took a bit of the length into his mouth. Another sensual laugh sounded. "Don't hesitate. I don't break, Yohji-kun. Give me everything you got."

In a sudden act of determination, Yohji slid all the way up the shaft, teeth grazing dangerously rough on the skin. He growled against it, pulling away just to move back in as he exhaled along the cool, damp skin. Hit tongue massaged it in an experienced manner, arching his back to give not only physical stimulation, but visual as well. Omi tugged at the tight crop top and slid it off to reveal the toned back of his older companion. The feel of hands on his shoulders made him laugh, thus drawing a moan from the blonde boy above him. His nails dug into Yohji's back. "Aa-n..." Was the only reply Yohji could give with the boy rocking suddenly forward. Omi's legs were flung over Yohji's shoulders, pulling him closer. He decided to pay special attention to the most sensitive area, rolling his tongue along the under side and grazing it roughly with his teeth as he hummed. Omi thrust against Yohji's hands as he laughed lustily. Something about it wasn't quite right, but the thought pushed itself out of his mind unnaturally quick.

"Yohji-kun..." came Omi's purring whisper. "Stand up." For a moment his mind hesitated, but the tall man stood all the same only to find his younger companion lean back until his spine rubbed on Yohji's toned stomach. The boy fumbled with the button on Yohji's pants, unfastening them and sliding down the zipper. Not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined Omi being so flexible and skilled. After all he had been a virgin last he'd checked. Or at least, he mused against the hand tracing his rock hard erection, he'd been a virgin before Schwartz had gotten a hold of him.

_Wait_. Yohji pulled away, allowing his teeth just enough contact to elicit a mournful cry from his companion. He twirled his tongue along the tip, just enough motion so as not to raise suspicion and still allow Yohji a chance to think. What happened in the past few days? _Why am I here anyway? This isn't my room, much less the apaato_. He thought back through the buzzing pain and white noise of his mind. _We went to go after Aya. I fell and then Schuldich asked us a riddles... the prize was..._. "Ommitchi." He stated, releasing his hold on the other's length. He suddenly felt disgusted with himself. He'd spent hours thinking about how there was no hope in finding his lover, no hope in regaining his trust. He'd taken himself here so that he could forget and learn to live with out Omi and now... "Let me go." His baritone rang commanding through the hotel room.

"Don't stop!" The man laughed. "You're so good at it!" The person who had been Omi only moments before no longer seemed to be like him in the least. That stomach-jerking laugh and the forceful way he insisted to make Yohji continue made him suddenly want to wretch.

Yohji's hands fell to his sides but the whore held himself up with his legs around the taller man's neck. "I said let me go." Those hands continued to work with the waning erection, almost desperate to make the older man continue.

"I swear, I can be this Omittchi if you want me to!" Came the pleading reply. "Just don't stop, Yohji-kun." This last sent Yohji into a frenzy. He threw the man viciously onto the bed. His breath came heavily in his chest now, eyes gleaming in the darkness, full of loathing.

He crawled on top of the whore, flipping him over to force him to look into those gleaming mad eyes. "You can never be Omi. You can never understand what it's like to have to resort to this when there's something you can do." The younger man seemed confused, but Yohji didn't have time to explain. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money, handing it over to the prostitute. "I know I already paid, but use this to call a taxi to get you. Keep whatever is left, I'm sure you need it more than I do." He climbed off the man and quickly slipped his shirt back on, hurrying out the door to climb down the stairs.

The nearly full moon hung low in the sky, signalling the approach of dawn. Pink shone along the horizon along with lighter pastels of blue and violet. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, moving quickly to his car. Yohji jumped in, turning on the ignition as quickly as possible before tearing out of the parking space. Movement on the empty road caught his eye. A red foreign sports car cruised down the road at a quick pace. Only one person could be in that car. Yohji's eyes narrowed and he turned onto the road to follow.

* * *

The street lamps gave off flickering shadows against the barely recognisable forms. The blue light of the moon and the fading gold from the artificial light gave a vague sense of tranquillity. There was that and the lingering enigma of pleasure pulsing through his veins. It came and went with the slight throb of music coursing through his mind. Surely the driver, the redhead thought almost smiling as he pursed his lips, must have projected it. Omi's blonde head rested to the side on the centre seat belt strap, gazing dreamily into the rising sun. The adrenaline had coursed out of his body leaving him in a silent vigil. Cerulean eyes refused to focus on anything, attracted more to the blurred lines of shadow against his captors' faces. A single golden orb glinted in the darkness, focusing on the form of the boy. It seemed to laugh at him, a frightful kind of glee screaming demented needs into his mind. Then from the opposite side of him were dark, unseeing depths boring holes into the back of the seat in front of him.

Omi's gaze shifted to the front seats, detached and unfeeling. Both pairs of eyes glinted joyfully in the lamplight, faces silhouetted by the quickly rising sun. He distantly wondered if his companions were watching the same sunrise, waiting for the news telling them of his death. _That's right… _He remembered dimly, I'm_ going to die today_. There came a heavy weight to his heart and he found himself full of regret. He had wanted to see his comrades at least once more before he went. Say goodbye to them and perhaps apologise to Yohji for not being able to completely give him his heart. The blonde man's smiling face rang clear in his mind, stinging him to the bone.

/You know, he doesn't love you./ Schuldich laughed. He was more joyful now than he'd ever seemed to be. He really must hate Omi to find such pleasure tormenting him. /Oh, you don't believe me, Kitten? I can tell you right now that he's not thinking about you./ The blonde boy watched his lips purse with glee. /Oh, he's a dirty boy. Would you like to see/ Without so much as a breath of reply Omi found himself with the picture of Yohji, arms wrapped around the waist of a boy hardly younger than himself holding him upside-down from his shoulders. The younger seemed to laugh with pleasure, hands reaching down to coddle Yohji's needing manhood.

It hurt. The picture sank into his subconscious and all the while Yohji's words rang clear in his mind. '_I'd give it all up if only you'd learn to love me._' Surely there had to be a mistake! There had to be something keeping it from being Yohji! He surveyed the picture in desperation, finding everything as it should be, each brush of the mind's eye provided more proof of the identity of the blonde man. _'How can I tell him that I'm absolutely in love with him--'_ came the remembered muffled conversation, rising to meet the agony forming in the pit of his stomach. _Nagi was right, _He mused to himself.

Schuldich gave an amused smile. /Oh, poor Kitten. Think of it this way: at least you won't have to live with the agony of facing him again. Of course, you'll never know why he did it./ The crooning voice brushed his mind almost affectionately had it not been for the shade of blessed hate blocking them. Omi shook his head.

Cerulean orbs closed tight, a single tear making its way from his tight chest. He needed to find some sort of comfort, needed to be pet and told everything would be okay. Of course, Omi understood, everything would not be okay. Even so, he leaned to rest his head against Nagi's shoulder. "Don't touch me." The boy hissed, not bothering to pull his head away from the hole he'd created in the back of Schuldich's chair. This sent another pang of hurt through his heart. He didn't want him anymore? It didn't surprise him, after all Omi was the enemy as well as broken. Yohji didn't want him; Nagi didn't want him...

Warm arms wrapped around him and Omi almost melted into them with his need to be comforted. Someone purred lightly into his hair, brushing his hand against the bare skin of Omi's arm. He leaned back into Farfarello who had refused to buckle his seat belt and thus had turned towards the blonde boy to watch him through their journey. The Irishman smiled, gently tilting Omi's head to plant a kiss on pouting lips. The younger returned the kiss and found himself nestled against the Irishman's chest, sobbing lightly against his shirt. Farfarello placed a pale hand against Omi's head as though to comfort him. However, what the blonde man didn't see was the smile that hardly ever crossed those scarred lips. "Such a pretty kitt'n..." He whispered, petting that soft mane of gold. "'Most angelic."

This caused Omi to cry harder. He clenched fistfuls of fabric against his face in sorrow. _No, not an angel. I'm not an angel! If I were, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be about to be killed. God would save me and take me away from my pain! God would save his angel! _The thought hurt deep, yet true to his heart. He wanted to not care anymore. He wanted to let the tears go and face his fate like he should, but the anxiety of death and agony drove him crazy. Gritting his teeth together the blonde boy forced himself to stop. Tears tread down the sides of his face with grim ferocity, but he allowed no sobs to escape, preferring to hang limp against this warm body. "Don't let me die."

Farfarello almost laughed, a rare thing, but he merely continued to pet the boy's head. "But 's what I want. I want ye tae die." He kissed the top of his head. "Ye should be thankin' me. Kami may not see ye now, but once we're done e'll know what a beautiful angel ye were." He tilted Omi's face up with a callused finger. "Such beauty 's a sin." A hand trailed up Omi's back beneath the cover of his shirt to skirt the lines of deep cuts just beginning to heal. "Yer beauty isn' without flaw." Through the lashes of the single revealed golden orb Omi could swear he saw a certain fondness, but he blamed it on the tears fogging his vision. "Dunnae feel so sad. Marks always look more lovely, den ye agree?" He stroked Omi's head slowly, much like he would have a cat. "God dunnae 'ave marks, but 'e made man. God dunnae feel for us, dunnae see us. 'S man, with flaws tha' feel pain 'n sympathy, so 's imperfections tha' make man better than God." Farfarello smiled again, only briefly. "S'man tha' deserve immortality."

A shiver coursed through Omi's body at the possessive touch along his spine. He gripped Farfarello's shoulders and put his head down against the scarred chest. There was nothing more to do now. Casting a quick glance to Nagi and the vaguely amused Schuldich he guessed they were quite absorbed in conversation. Then there was Farfarello, mocking his pain but not hinting to cause more. He was so warm against Omi's cold skin so, with Farfarello's hand still against his back, he curled just a bit tighter and closed his teary eyes. It was sure to be a long day tomorrow, certain to end with Omi's death. He may as well get some sleep before hand. He reached out unknowingly for the pale fingers resting against his leg and drifted soon after into sleep.

Farfarello chuckled and a slight smile crossed his lips as he lightly tensed his fingers against the much smaller tan ones and closed his eye to rest until they reached the sacrificial grounds.

A large hand pulled off one of the ears to the headset. Brad's dark eyes turned to the back seat. "It's too bad," He whispered, "He's quite cute when he's asleep. I would have liked to keep him." The American smiled and replaced the earpiece, returning to his reverie with Mozart ringing tunes in his mind. "Schuldich, I trust you to keep Nagi for a while. It's been a long day. A long few days in fact." He rubbed the bags under his eyes then fell silent.

/You should get some rest, too. Even traitors need to sleep sometimes./ The smile had faded from Schuldich's lips. He felt genuinely worried for his young companion. Sure, it was true that Schwarz often went nights without sleep, but lately it had been a habit too easily formed. Crawford was right. It had been a long few days. Of which Schuldich himself had only squeezed out a few hours, leaving him in poor control of his powers. /If the Playboy makes it in time you may just have your help to get the Kitten out. You should be in top condition./

This last shocked Nagi. Schuldich almost seemed to be supporting the thought of escape. /Don't take me wrong, Prodigy. I'm not supporting the idea, I'm supporting you. / To this Nagi nodded. "I suppose some rest wouldn't hurt." He closed his eyes, quickly lulled to sleep by the soft melody stuck in Schuldich's head. The mental Gaijin voice hummed the tune gently with the violin instrumental, almost eerily gorgeous with it. Nagi mentally noted that the German had a rather nice voice as long as he didn't sing in English then was fast asleep.

Schuldich smiled, humming the tune with new vigour. The road was all his. Well, his and the Playboy's, but that didn't matter much. He'd had his fun breaking their sacrifice's heart and now he would let things play out as they were meant to. He didn't have the strength to play any more mind games now. _'Motto anata o dakishime nemuritai..._'

* * *

Dawn woke him with a dim, metallic ringing. It echoed off the bare walls and bounced back, only to pause before ringing again. Lavender eyes hesitantly opened. His muscles sore and battered, Ran moved to pick up the phone next to the bowl of water used the night before to clean Ken's wounds. "Moshimoshi." He grunted, voice raw for some unknown reason. His tongue rolled in his mouth against the sticky residue. "Yohji, what do you want?" He paused a second to listen, vaguely irritated to be woken from such a rare deep sleep. Lavender orbs floated across the shadows streaming through the window, eyeing the pinks and oranges moving against the white paint. "Of course you know where he is. He's with Schwarz." Ran brushed some hair from his face, finding it somewhat damp and smelling of sweat. He blinked. "Balinese, calm down. Where are you?" He nodded slightly to himself, not moving too much to ease the aching of his muscles. "Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can. Hai." He paused. "Hai. Jaa ne."

Immediately he fell back onto the bed. Why on earth was he in Ken's room? Ran found himself nude, like he normally slept, but covered in a crusty substance. He peeled a piece from his skin and moved it along his fingers. He'd done something last night... something that he'd greatly enjoyed. A pause and then he felt a hand across his chest. The callused pads moved along the curves of his muscles to the nipple, hardening with the light touch. "Ayan..." came the tired moan. "Where are we supposed to be going?" Soft pink lips brushed pale skin. "I'm too tired to move."

Smooth, bare legs entwined with his own and Ran could feel the upper thigh and bared member of his younger companion. He shivered. That's right, he acknowledged with a smile, he and Ken had done many things the night before. He'd been taunted, tempted, teased, but in the end he found that Ken had been right. With his love for control, Ran decided as he'd fallen asleep the night before, he certainly enjoyed calling the shots. Plus the idea of being able to command his comrade to do more than just battle gave him chills. Well, this was a new and enjoyable way to wake up. The smile faded as Ran remembered that Omi had been taken from the original hideout. "Yohji found Omi. He called to say that he's going to need some backup." Ken gave a moan and moved to sit up. With a quick motion Ran had pulled himself from the laying position and wrapped Ken in a tight embrace, fingers trailing down to the morning erection he was sure to find. "Don't moan at me, Siberian. I don't want to have to punish you for disobeying orders."

The soccer player became suddenly tense and nodded fervently. "Alright, alright! I'll go, just don't do this to me now!" This caused Ran to smile and he allowed Ken to slide free. He hurried to the linen closet and pulled out two clean towels, tossing one at Ran who caught it easily. "I can take the main bathroom if you want to use the one in Yohji's room." Ran nodded and stood, following the younger boy nude through the hall, only to turn into the main bathroom with him. Ken paused, shifting a bit under the lavender gaze. "Um... did you want this one?"

Oh, this was fun. Ran smiled and closed the door, locking it behind him. "We can both use it." He turned the knobs of the shower and the water came streaming down as it heated. "It saves time." Ran moved closer to Ken only to bite playfully on his ear. "Besides," he whispered into the shell, "I don't want to leave you alone." The brunette blushed, apparently trying to force away the reaction the nibble had given him. However, seeing as how they both stood nude, it was near impossible to do so. "Nn... my Kenken..." Ran pulled the younger to him, pressing their bodies together with a smile.

Ken kissed lightly at Ran's collarbone, easing himself around to the shower before climbing in. He pressed himself against the wall, allowing the water to rain down on him while he pulled his lover into the steaming shower. "Ayan, if only we didn't have to go out..." Ran nodded sadly, pulling out the bottle of shampoo. Even so, they both understood what had to be done. If it was between sex and saving Omi, both would easily choose the latter.

* * *

Morning driving in Tokyo was a nightmare. It took nearly an hour just to get out of the business districts. Aya had called his sister and let her know that he would be going out. He stopped by to grab his clothes and katana, glad to have it in his hand, and headed out. Now they drove steadily on the outskirts of Tokyo, heading towards where Yohji had been when he last called. The hotel passed the window quickly and Ken dialled to get further directions. A few minutes of speaking the brunette put down the phone. "Osaka bay region. He says that there's an underground ritual centre placed by ancient cults. He says he's waiting outside the Neko to Inu for us."

A few more hours of driving landed them by a pay phone outside a popular club, now closed for the day. Yohji nervously stamped out his cigarette upon their arrival and hurried to the door. "They're not here. They're a bit outside the city, but I need to talk to you." He turned and motioned for them to follow. "I'm friends with the owner. He said that we can talk safely in here." Yohji slid the door open for the two following then hurried to a place at the bar where he'd been drinking. "They can't do anything until night, Omi's being prepared for the ritual. When we get there he won't be able to speak, Nagi's gotta put some control on him just to make sure. Or else the ritual will be a failure." Yohji had continued to grow more nervous as he spoke, the consequences of making the slightest mistake sinking in. "He can't lighten up on Omi since Schuldich's keeping a tight lock on everything he does."

Ken eyed the tall blonde man whose hands shook so badly he had to put down the drink. The brunette's guess was that he'd ordered it long ago but had not been able to bring himself to drink it. "How did you find all this out? Did you talk to them?"

Yohji shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out a few napkins on which were scribbled sloppy symbols in permanent marker. Though shaky, it was unmistakable handwriting. Nagi had written it, albeit from afar. "This is all the information I got. I'm not sure why he wants to help us, but the fact remains that he's done a lot to help Omi get out of this." Aya shook his head. He didn't trust this 'Nagi' fellow, but he was the only lead they had. Although he may be Schwarz, Nagi Naoe, the Prodigy, wasn't known to lie. "We've got until sundown. He suggested rest since that's one thing Schwarz has been lacking. It's best to have the upper hand." Ken placed a reassuring hand on his companion's shoulder.

"I'll find somewhere that we can sleep." Aya suggested and turned to head out the door. A glance around the square showed that they were near quite a few hotels, however most of which would be insanely expensive. He bit his lip, thinking of the ring he'd wanted to get Aya-chan for her birthday and cursed. A quick trip into the closest of them gave Aya a key to a one-bed room and a much lighter wallet. Even so, it was a place to sleep. From the room he called down to Ken's cell and they soon found themselves pattering around the room, Yohji squatting to keep from hitting the ceiling.

Ken curled up on the chair, leaving the bed open for the larger men. "Nothing more we can do, really." He sighed, looking out at the noon sun. "Yohji, try to get some rest; you've been up all night." To this the blonde man nodded and, albeit grudgingly, lie down on the bed.

* * *

The showers poured down on his back, splashing off the tanned bare skin before running down his body to pool on the tile floor and swirl around his feet. Omi stared, blue eyes watching the bubbling drain with apparent interest. He lowered heavy lids until he gazed out through dark lashes. Rough hands worked shampoo into his blonde hair. It smelled vaguely of flowers, one of his favourites. However the scent of this particular lily seemed empty without the lingering tobacco. This would be his last shower. The pounding of the water on his spine seemed more wonderful now than it had ever been. The warm splashes moving between his toes, trailing down his stomach, each bead of water he held dear to him.

Images of his past life flooded into his mind, everything forming together like the droplets on his skin. A smile from his companions, those who had betrayed him, the way they always seemed busy when they had been merely loitering about. Ken carrying that cactus back and forth through the shop, Aya... no Ran... watering the plants much more than necessary, Yohji weaving flowers together to make headbands for his favourite customers, each one of them rang clear in his mind and he knew that no matter how much they had wronged him he could never hate them. Even Yohji. Omi should have been expecting something like that to happen. His much older companion would get tired of waiting for Omi to get over the shock of rape and the pain it had caused him and go out looking for a willing body to take out his frustrations on. Sure, he should have seen it right before his very eyes, but it still hurt. A piece of Omi's tattered heart fell to the floor to mingle with the water at his feet, no, the tears of his heart. They may as well have been. So many broken sobs fought to rip themselves from Omi's chest to die lonesome on the floor. He refused them and rebuked them for the threat and kept them bottled up in his chest. After all, they wouldn't matter soon; he'd be dead.

A heady fragrance floated past his nose. For a second he wondered what it was, but passed it off knowing that he'd soon find out. Indeed he did as the bar of soap rubbed across his back and legs before he was forced to turn and have the other side of him cleansed of his earthly sins. He refused to look into the American's face, knowing full well what he'd find. The smug grin crossing his face and those all-knowing eyes mocking him-- saying to him that he had no worries and Omi would surely die on this day without question-- would only make Omi wretch and he'd have to be cleaned all over again. Instead he stared at his feet with an unnatural interest.

The rules were simple: No talking, no trying to escape, no contact to the outside. It didn't matter much anyway. The only one of the things Omi may have been remotely interested in doing he was prevented to do by a cold, invisible hand constantly clamping his jaws together. He'd given up trying, now aware that Nagi would continue to follow orders. Sure the Asian boy had all the abilities to fight back and wipe out Schwarz single-handed but Schuldich would hear of it far before he'd made up his mind to act and Brad would have already known about it. So he sat beyond the walls of the shower with his hands folded in his lap and a distant look deep in his eyes, one almost seeming to be anxiety.

Who was Omi kidding? The only way anyone wanted him was dead. The shower was turned off and Brad approached with white towels to pad him dry. The blonde boy had been firmly told that he was to do nothing himself, it was highly unfitting for a sacrifice to even be awake during the preparation and it would be strictly looked down on if a sacrifice were to do its own work. He lifted slim arms and Brad slipped a linen shift onto him. It fell down to his knees and hung comfortably around him, however loose at the waist. This was easily remedied by a sash wrapped around him and tied firmly in place. Brad held his hand out to the boy to help him out of the shower and Omi accepted, though the very thought of touching the man made his skin crawl.

Slowly he was led down the hallway between Nagi and Brad towards what seemed to be a cathedral. The candles had been lit in a circle around a tall cross, the shadow falling over the ground in many different angles. He passed over the candles and knelt in the centre with the instruction to pray. Omi closed deep blue orbs and pressed his palms together, brought up just enough for fingers to brush against his lower lip. _God... please have mercy on my soul. I have killed many people without the right to judge whether they deserve to live or die. I have fallen past the gates of Hell in doing so and I beg forgiveness. I will die before the sun rises next and I will pass through your halls on my way to my final trial. These things I have done--_ Flashes of times and places coursed through his mind, crossbow heavy in his hand and darts gripped between his knuckles as his shadow fell across the final breath of his victim. _Masafumi, Hirofumi, Reiji, Suichi, Ouka_ , Each a name of someone he should have loved or did love, each facing a cruel death under his scrutiny and he unable to lift a finger to change the fate that was in store for them. _These things I have done I wish I hadn't done. Each of their faces weighs on my chest and stains my hands in their blood but still I have been allowed to live happily_. Yohji, Ken, Ran, Aya all smiling at him, urging him to move forward, helping him in times of need and using his shoulder for their tears. Each one of them held a special place in his heart that he wished to have been able to let them know about. Sure they may have done wrongs against him and Omi must have committed such things against them as well so there was no choice but to lift their debts from his chest. If he could see them again he would tell them such. _And I know I should be punished for it. Please, God... have mercy on me during my judgement_...

* * *

The alarm clock went off without being set. Yohji sat bolt right in bed, hand slamming down on the snooze button with no effect. He jumped from the bed and searched for the plug and jerked it out of the wall. It gave a few final barking wails and stopped shortly after the red lights disappeared. "Damn it, Nagi... you didn't have to be so rude about it..." Aya and Ken were already bustling around the room, making coffee and doing the final adjustments on their weapons. Having not changed out of his uniform since the night before, Yohji was mostly ready. He ran his hands through his hair and took a nervous glance out the window at the encroaching night. "Happy Birthday, me." He muttered and pulled on his jacket, making sure to check the wire cartridge in his watch.

Ken poked his head out of the bathroom where he'd been splashing his face with water. "So Nagi decided to wake you up?" The blonde man gave a solemn nod. Ken shook his head, pulling the goggles up to rest just above his forehead. "It's just about time to get going, you ready to go, Yohji?" Another nod.

There was a muffled "Mission accepted" and a click before Aya returned from the balcony. He pulled his fingers nervously through his hair. "Kritiker just found out about Omi and told us strictly to stay behind."

The brunette nearly exploded in Aya's face. "You accepted!" In the meantime Yohji dropped the cigarette that he'd been ready to light. "Aya, what the hell -- Omi's going to be killed if we don't do something about it."

A held up hand silenced him and the crimson-haired man turned to the setting sun. "We're not going to follow orders. We just can't go against them outright. Disobey now, give excuses later." He picked up his katana, shoving his cell phone into the depths of the inner pocket in his trench. He hurried to the door, not bothering to wait for the others to follow before heading out, explaining orders along the way. "Alright, we're without a layout today, we'll have to rely on what Nagi's told us and hope that it's not too hard to navigate. According to the note Omi'll be in either the sanctuary or the sacrificial grounds around the centre of the facility." Ran tossed the keys onto the desk, not waiting for comments from the man behind it. He pushed open the glass door, followed closely by his companions. "Yohji, you followed them to the entrance, right?"

"I did." He replied, climbing into Aya's less noticeable car and buckling the seat belt. "There was a code on the door which Nagi left on the sheet so we could get in. My guess is that it's going to have surveillance cameras surrounding the main entrances so we take those out first, not that I expect they'll be watching. In fact the chances will be very high that our best bet on entry would be to wait until the ceremony begins."

Brown eyes focused on the two in the front seat. "What about Omi? If we get there too late or if we don't get word soon enough he could be dead by the time we get in. Of course that'll have to be a major decision on our part. Do we risk the chance of being caught before we get in or do we wait until the ceremony begins? Either way we can be sure that they'll see it coming with Brad."

Yohji nodded gravely. The crimson-haired driver turned a corner, heading out of the main city as per directed. "That's a good point, but during the ceremony they won't be able to waste time coming after us until we've already gotten there. Timing is crucial, Siberian. If we show up before the ceremony we'll have Nagi on our backs whether he wants to be or not. By that time we'll have been smashed flat without even a word from Omi."

"I agree," Yohji stated, fumbling with an unlit cigarette shakily, "I'd rather die knowing that I was almost there rather than die outside the damned walls." He cast a glance to Aya, hoping that he'd allow him to smoke on just this one occasion. "May I?" The redhead paused for a minute, weighing the greater evils then nodded. Yohji pulled out a lighter and flicked it to send a red spark, rolling down the window to exhale a puff of smoke. "After all I'm sure if he needed to Omi would hold on for us unless he had a reason not to."

* * *

Omi was ushered along the hallway with no fight at all. After all, he had no reason not to get this over with as soon as possible. He'd been humiliated and scorned and even hated within the past week and now he'd prayed as much as he could, stalling the inevitable until sundown. Now cerulean depths focused on the great ceremonial room, five marble pillars creating a star. A block of glass had been cut to fit just perfectly beneath the one closest to what would be the top. He guessed that it would be his final resting place. His mental eye could almost see and smell his own blood pooling and spilling from the top of that gorgeous, icy pedestal as he writhe in silent pain and complete defeat.

There was no doubt he feared his death, in fact he was utterly horrified of what lay beyond this realm for one like him. Even so he continued forward into the centre of the star, each of the men taking a point before him, his own lay behind. The order was as follows, Schuldich on his right, Farfarello at the bottom right, Brad at the bottom left and then Nagi to his left. He stared evenly at each one, knowing full well what was to follow.

"Child," the deep baritone began, "we have brought you here for one reason and one alone. Such a lamb as yourself has no right to live so purely in this world of sin, you who is forever a child in the eyes of God. From you we claim your heart, your body and your soul. From you we collect our grievances and the debts to which others owe us. You are the epitome of the childhood taken from each of us and we have brought you here to reclaim it. Come forth, child and receive your parting kiss."

Omi bowed his head solemnly, bare feet lifting fae-like from the ground only to be placed before him once more. He moved, floated, forward to the one on his right to tilt his head up and receive the gift he'd been promised. The red-haired German gave a smirk as though to say Omi deserved everything that came to him before pulling the boy into the circle of his arms and kissing him deeply to which Omi gave no battle. He accepted the probing tongue into his mouth and returned the kiss without regret and without emotion, filled only with apathy. Schuldich pulled away, a bit disappointed with the lack of a fight and released the boy to plant his feet softly on the ground once more.

Again the blonde continued forward, moving now to the scarred Irishman. The single golden eye glinted with anxiety for what he believed was rightly his. Almost in an act of shyness the man ruffled his own hair and bent forward to plant a painfully hard kiss on Omi's pouting, yet welcoming lips. The boy pushed into it, noting the harshness of the hands on his shoulders distantly. He felt a slight wave of gratefulness that Farfarello had removed the needles he kept buried in his tongue as the man pulled away, biting his own lip till it bled since he could not do so to Omi's.

Brad, with the most courtesy of those previous, tilted Omi's face up to meet his lips softly and almost affectionately. The blue-eyes boy mirrored the act and accepted the tongue once more, glad to find that the American wasn't half as harsh with him as he had been a week before. Even so the mask of indifference remained and the thoughtfully massaged the other's tongue from beneath, getting used to the act although he'd never get the chance to use it again. Then Brad stopped, his attentions elsewhere and pulled away. A large, but delicate finger moved to wipe away the saliva from Omi's lower lip with an amused smile. Omi didn't understand why the older man bothered to smile at him, but still continued on.

His soft feet landed to stop in front of Nagi. When he looked up to meet the younger's eyes there sparked a bit of hate at what he saw: a reflection of himself only days before, bowing to every command without complaint and only blank eyes to counter. To this there came a slight thrill in Omi's stomach. Good, let the boy hate him. It would make things far less painful when he saw this pet die beneath the knife of his comrades. He wrapped his arms around Nagi's slim neck and leaned forward to be the giver of the final kiss. Omi thought he deserved it since this would be the last chance he got. He closed his eyes, paying close attention to the way Nagi tasted, slightly like mints to cover up what he'd eaten since Omi himself hadn't been allowed to eat, forced to fast for the day in prayer. The way his tongue moved against Nagi's in a seemingly endless dance. He ran his fingers through soft, thick hair and Nagi gave the slightest bit of a fight, apparently not wanting to kiss Omi in this state. Something else that was good. Cause discomfort to the boy who'd taken his freedom from him and revealed the acts of his companions against him. He gave a few passionate movements with his tongue and backed away, not fully pulling his tongue into his mouth until their mouths had parted, staring up blankly through dark lashes.

Nagi, slightly sickened, looked to the ground. The blonde boy could almost laugh. How childish! The Asian reacted so horribly against such a stimulus. Omi couldn't blame him. The thought of kissing a blank doll didn't seem to appeal. Now he backed away to the centre of the pentagram once more. He stared blankly at each of his captors in turn, certainly the marionette.

"Brothers," Schuldich started, his voice slightly more harsh than Omi would have imagined. Perhaps he'd found out something from Brad unpleasing to the ear. "I invite you to take part in this feast. A feast much like that of the son of God. We've taken from the body, now we drink from the blood. Join me in such a feast and find yourselves fortunate."

This time, as per direction, Omi headed toward Farfarello who held in his hand a slim knife. It gleamed in the dim light of the room and cast reflections in the floor. "Allow me now, Father, God, tae take this lamb fer our treas'ns." He lifted the thin piece of metal just slightly, not seeming to aim to cause much pain, just cut the skin. "Such a sacrifice, like that of yer son 'ill cleanse us 'f our imperfections and lift us into eternal life." He pulled the blade across Omi's cheek. It stung, but the knife had been sharp and left a clean cut. Quickly the Irishman licked away the crimson liquid trailing down his chest and smiled. "Taste, brothers and take part of eternal life."

The blonde boy moved forward, the coolness of the floor penetrating the delicate pads of his feet with ease, sending a shiver up his back. Brad drew a finger beneath the stinging gash to catch the hot liquid pouring there and spread it across his lips, licking it off smoothly as Omi continued on to Nagi. Again he put on his blank stare, willing apathy to sink into the core of his bones. It was obvious that Nagi had almost had enough of this and the younger took amazingly strong hands to grip the blonde's chin. He gave a long, hard stare before moving up to kiss the blood away. Omi's heartbeat sped up, but he willed it away once more, along with his emotions. Once released, Omi bowed his head to the floor and moved past his own pedestal to where he knew the German stood in wait. His once gleaming jade eyes now glared hollow and cold on Omi's expressionless face. There was obvious tension between the two and, if only for a moment, Omi could swear that Schuldich was about to hit him. Then, with an almost-sneer, he pulled Omi against him in an embrace, thinking sourly to him /It's too bad I can't touch you for any reason but the ceremony. I'll let you know now that if I were to be the one to lay my hands on you at the end, I would hurt you as badly as possible./ Pulling away Schuldich harshly licked at the swelling cut, the taste buds seeming a bit too rough and catlike for Omi's liking. However, he turned and headed to the centre once more with no show of discomfort. After all, it didn't matter much anymore.

The next voice almost shocked him to hear, the light tenor ringing through the halls clear and strong, almost seeming to be calling for somebody or something. "Brothers of mine blood," Nagi began, "tonight is the night of our joining, the time upon which we have called to bring us together and make us gods among men. Tonight we have brought a sacrificial lamb to take the place of our sins and lead us into the existence of eternal life. We have tasted of his body and his blood, now let us claim what we rightfully deserve!" He paused, watching the other three take hold of the boy in the centre. Omi could feel the hands close around his arms and his feet and he was suddenly hoisted from the ground and carried to the platform where he would take his final breath. "Let us become one with our God as prophets! Brothers, today we drink from the vine of God, join me!"

"Hear us God," Came a single echoing voice, followed by the next "Answer our prayers," then the next, "And may we reign on high with you." The cold of the glass almost burned against his skin, but he remained still, limp as a marionette would be without a puppeteer. Unwillingly his eyes gazed upwards at the point of the knife within Brad's hand. It bore a cross on the hilt in gold and the edge twinkled in the vague candlelight. Raised above Omi's bosom, his heart quickened and he forced himself to inhale. Long moments stretched before him, pictures of the things he loved and cared about flashed before his eyes in the reflection of the blade and he bade himself goodnight. _My final breath.._. He pulled in a long shuddering gasp and closed his eyes tight, but nothing came. No sharp pain to his heart, no burning in his chest, just the same cold as before. Almost ready to open his eyes, there came the voice from above him. "En memoria..." The chant began, Omi only able to pick out a few choice words from the garble. Each of the other men joined in at once and Omi knew the blade to be hovering over him. A cold touch of metal against his brow, then his chest and then each shoulder before returning to it's seemingly floating position.

There came a loud clatter, and cerulean eyes shot open to find Brad staring behind him at a disturbing sight, one he most surely had been expecting. /Keep chanting/ was the open ended mental hiss before the chanting picked up again, droning miserably as it echoed from the walls.

A fast glance to Nagi showed him straining to fight something away, his face taut in pain. Even so he refused to give in, hands clenched so hard by his sides that blood inevitably drew from them. Those dark blue orbs hovered on a furious Schuldich who had turned to face the intruders. Omi's gaze followed the telepath's to find his companions ready for a fight if it need be done. His red-haired leader stood boldly at the front, katana unsheathed and shining in the light not so different from the sacrificial blade now lying discarded on the ground. "Stop this foolishness, Schwarz. The game is up and we're taking back what's rightfully ours." At this Omi's teeth grit together and he rose from the pedestal, no longer being blocked by Brad. He worked his mouth although no sound came out and flung his arms angrily at the other assassins. He didn't want to go with them. Now he'd rather be killed than go back and be their possession. At last his arms fell limp and he allowed his mouth to close.

He knelt to pick up the knife, striding almost casually to Brad and handing it to him. Omi gestured to his chest, ordering the American as best he could to kill him there and now. The dark-haired man, however could not do any such thing with the chant not being finished. So he continued to speak evenly in that foreign tongue and pulled Omi slowly back towards the pedestal. Something cold bit into his sides, drawing blood through the thin shift. His mouth opened in a silent scream. Omi fought against it, but was pulled to the ground by the shining, silver thread. "Omi, I'm sorry." Yohji whispered from the other end of the cord, "I can't let you go through with this. I won't let you destroy your life like this." To prove his point, Omi grit his teeth and pushed his arms against the wire, thus cutting himself deeper. Yohji clipped the wire loose and stood still. "You can't do this! Why?" He demanded, forgetting about Nagi's explanation of the boy's inability to speak. His gaze floated around the room and fell, furious on the youngest of them all. Nagi still struggled against the proddings of Schuldich's power, fighting against them the only way he knew how, building walls. He didn't hear the chant end, nor see Omi rising to hobble towards his old companions, in attempts to explain.

Brad held the knife in his hand tightly, pain coursing through his body in a sudden expression of foresight. He spun, just fast enough to see a pale finger tighten on the trigger. "Farfarello! No!" This snapped all their concentration and in a sudden jerk the trigger was pulled, letting out a sharp shot into the air. Omi's head turned at the cry, watching the entire scene on slow motion. Farfarello aiming the gun square at Omi, pulling the trigger and then the slow moving bullet flying through the distance between them. His eyes squeezed shut and he was vaguely aware of the breath catching in his throat. His consciousness pulled into himself, closing off everything around him until all that was left was the fulfilment of his destiny and the bullet inching towards his unguarded chest. He could imagine the cold steel ripping through him as they had many times before, tearing through the muscle and bone entrapping his cold heart and leaving him still and just as alone as Nagi had foretold. The images of his companions reached out to him in his suspended state, his leader insisting that a name didn't bind him, Ken fighting to keep the poison from Omi's veins in that final battle and finally Yohji's back, lit from the window beyond and the sun's golden glow, slowly rising. _'I would give it all up…'_ There was nothing. The memories stung around him like the tight chill of the marble beneath his feet and the metal projectile racing to claim its target.

There was a thump and the long hours pulled together, revealing mere seconds had passed. The blonde man's hands shook wildly and his muscles seized up, legs giving in to drop him to the floor. "No--" Tears welled up into his eyes, the ache of guilt pouring into his previously still heart. He shouldn't have killed for reasons beyond his own. He shouldn't have toyed with people's hearts and minds, no better than Schwarz himself. It all rounded together in a pocket of regret in his heart. It ached right where he felt the coldness bite into him. There were no differences. There was no separation.

His mouth opened to call out a name, but his voice refused to emerge even against the released bonds. "Nagi!" Came the sorrowful cry from the inner star, the Germanic twinge changing the name just enough to make it hardly recognisable to Omi's deafening ears. It had been the only time he'd ever called the boy by his name. Omi gathered the Asian boy into his arms, watching the blood trickle from the side of that sliced lip. Another form plopped down beside him, hands shaking and brushing away the strands of dark hair from indigo eyes. "No, Nagi... don't do this, you can't die. Not now, please." Without having the heart to glance up, Omi knew there to be tears in the German's eyes as well. If only he'd known that this would happen. If only they'd both been able to see what was going on.

Nagi shifted uncomfortably against Omi's lap and gave a weak smile. "I--" He paused, swallowing as much of the blood as he could before trying to speak again. "I shouldn't have taken you away..." A pale hand reached up to brush Omi's face, careful not to touch the gash swelling on it. "My only regret is that I didn't tell you how I felt sooner, but... at least... I was still useful enough to save you..." His body shuddered and his fist fell clenched to his side. "I love you, Omi..." Then he was still, limp in Omi's arms and he distantly found himself shaking the form to try to wake him, convincing himself that the boy was just sleeping, just playing a joke on him. Farfarello's gun had been loaded with blanks, it had to be! And this blood, it couldn't be blood, it was something else—Karo syrup, theatre blood, something, but not the truth so bluntly revealed.

Omi grit his teeth together in a parody of a smile, the tears pouring violently over his cheeks, stinging the wound there. "Nagi," He called, shaking the sleeping boy in his lap, "Nagi wake up. You're just joking, right? You're not dead. You can't die, you're Schwarz." He shook a bit harder now, drowning in the belief swelling in his chest. "Nagi! Damn it, Nagi! Wake up! Don't leave me here alone like this! You can't do this to me!"

Schuldich's heart stopped in his chest when his name hadn't been spoken. Nagi hadn't even known he was there, hadn't even seen him. Now this intruder dared to shake his companion to wake him from the sleep that the blonde boy himself had caused the moment he stole Nagi's heart. "Let him go." He commanded, his voice unnaturally firm and his eyes hidden by the heavy red locks of hair. The younger continued to try to wake him, sobbing over him like an animal. The thought of seeing the young boy's body break beneath this Weiß's hands almost caused him to raise his tense hands against Omi and send him to Hell without prayer, but Nagi had loved him –Nagi who Schuldich had longed to reach in the same way this child had. The silent jealousy ate away at him—but Nagi had loved him and so he spared the boy. Instead he pushed the young man away and pulled Nagi into his own grasp. He stood, jade eyes gleaming angrily at the writhing boy on the ground. "He was never your companion, Weiß, never yours to grieve over. Leave. You've caused us enough pain." When Omi didn't move he turned to Yohji with that icy stare.

The tall blonde man had never felt the sort of admiration that he felt for Schuldich now. He'd felt the same pain Yohji himself had felt and now refused to allow it to keep him from the one he loved. It was, indeed selfish and Yohji certainly wouldn't have done the same, but the die-hard love was indeed rooted into his veins. Yohji took hold of Omi's arms to which the boy flailed against to get at Schuldich who now walked away from him, taking the Asian boy with him. "No! Let me go!" He wailed, tears streaming onto the floor in fat drops like isolated rain. "Yohji! Let me go! I want to see Nagi! Let me GO!" Yohji, however could not comply, out of respect to Schuldich and out of his need to protect his most precious possession from the agony that would plague him if he followed. Omi, Yohji's White Cross, had found his own burden and Yohji refused to see him destroyed by it. He pulled the boy from the ground and pulled him over his shoulder where Omi beat fervently on him with heavy fists, screaming to be brought back and killed like he ought to have been—like destiny had governed.

_God saved him. Happy birthday, Kudou… _

He opened the door and pushed Omi in, despite the wails of protest and the blindly fighting limbs, all the while whispering condolences, Yohji's own tears obscuring the view of his beloved. _No, not mine_, he reminded himself as he closed the door and climbed into the front seat, _he's not mine now_. Yohji let out a painful sigh as the newly arrived rain pounded on the roof of Aya's car. He would stay long enough to allow Omi to recover a bit. _After that... after that.._. He closed sad, green eyes, pushing up the sunglasses just enough that if Aya lookes askance, he couldn't see his tears. After that he'd get as far away from Omi as he could and try to start a new life. Run a little further from the guilt that stung in his soul. He, himself, couldn't bear to see the places he'd been with Omi... where he'd been with Asuka. In a place where no one knew him, Yohji would be able to regrow and maybe escape the overshadowing torment. In a place that no one knew him... maybe he could forget.

As they continued driving the rain grew harder and Omi's screams subsided into sobs and finally into sniffles. Ken hadn't said a word, silently stroking the blonde boy's back until he drifted into a fitful, exhausted sleep.

"We'll have to report to Kritiker," Aya finally dared, voice still low enough that Omi, now asleep on Ken's lap, wouldn't hear.

Ken nodded, running his free hand through chocolate locks. He looked nearly as tired as Yohji felt, his spirit pulling him down into the passenger seat and acting like a vice, pinching him in half with heartbreak and conflict. The circles under Ken's eyes became sharper and more distinct as they drove under street lights on the way back to Tokyo. Yohji's car could be picked up, shipped, towed. It wasn't important now, in the lieu of Omi's disfiguring distress. "I doubt he'll talk to any of us after all of this. Who knows what Schwarz told him to get him so willing…"

After this came the uneasy silence, the humming heater and then a torturous slumber.


	7. From Now on

Cigarette Juice Box

Final Chapter: From now on…

WARNING! More angst.

* * *

The question hung stagnant in the air, the ringing of anticipation pulsing through the men's ears. The cool, expressionless walls of the apartment held no fascination any longer, no life. However, since the building had once tasted the joy of those seemingly incapable of creating it, the paint and plaster sucked all the warmth that was left out of those remaining. It extended the chill from late winter into the ambitionless dwellers within.

Because of this, Yohji had grown quite sick of the cold, just like Omi had. He should have grown used to the chill of absence, having had to face it since Omi's birthday hardly two weeks prior. Since then he'd been overwhelmed with confusion, loss, hope and finally the heartache that should have been long expected. He'd known since the beginning that his feelings would most likely never be reciprocated, but he'd refused to accept that the crumbling of the hardly-begun relationship would take place then, when Omi would most need his companions to help him rebuild the rubble of his life. Instead, Omi had disconnected, moved out in favour of taking up the offered position of Persia left behind by his father, saying only to Aya, "If Omi Tsukiyono is so easily corrupted, I need to abandon myself. I need to become human again…" And with that, he'd resigned from Weiß and been immediately promoted. Whether or not he could admit it, the Omi Tsukiyono that Yohji had fallen in love with no longer existed.

That left Weiß in a place from which it could hardly rebuild. Without the ability to nurse Omi's wounds, it seemed to the team that the youngest of Weiß had died. So, in a time of mourning, Weiß had decided to break up and go their separate ways.

Aya had made the difficult choice in leaving his sister behind while he transferred to another assassin team. When asked, the sullen man merely replied, "As long as I know she's alive, this is fine." It hadn't helped this "distance-yourself-from-those-you-love" thought process when Aya-chan had followed Omi and Nagi to interfere with Weiß. If she ever took the steps to do so again, Ran had doubted that she'd ever make it out. There was no choice but to force her to take his cruelty in order to protect her.

However, none of this could make Yohji's decision any easier. The question remained, where was he going to go? Without the driving force Omi had sustained in him, Yohji wondered if there was anything that he would be capable of doing. Without Omi, Yohji wondered if there was even a world. "I need to get away from Tokyo," he answered slowly to Ken, "I have too many ghosts here."

"So where to?" Ken continued, brown eyes soft due to Yohji's heavy depression. "Osaka? Hokkaido? I'm sure there are teams there who'd take you on."

Shaking his head, Yohji sighed. "No. Further. Europe maybe. Somewhere that there's no memories." It was bad enough that Yohji had to carry his self-made phantoms, but to see the apparition of Omi Tsukiyono in Mamoru Takatori… It hit too close to home. Yohji wasn't sure he could handle that.

Ken nodded, but his brows furrowed in thought. "Europe…." He laughed quietly to himself, "I don't think I can trust you to go that far alone." When Yohji looked up to him in shock, he merely smiled. "I'll have to talk to Aya about it, but after all of this, you're going to need someone you can trust." Slowly, Yohji was forced to nod and Ken's smile slipped away. After all of this, Yohji needed someone to keep him from himself. The soccer player held up a finger as he turned towards the door. "I'll talk to you about it in a while, I'm gonna go check up on the Fujimiyas."

Again, Yohji gave a dumb nod, watching with flat green eyes as Ken exited, only to nearly crumble onto the couch in exhaustion. Too much had happened in too short a time. Nagi was dead, Omi had become Mamoru and now Yohji was forcing Aya and Ken apart without meaning to. There was too much guilt… but what choice was there anymore? He could hardly face life. The man held a hand to support his hanging head and buried his face into it. There was no other choice but to abandon himself just as Omi had. Yohji Kudoh was broken and unwilling. He couldn't face the world with fear and bitterness or else he would abandon what Yohji Kudoh had once stood for and become no better than the Schwarz he so despised.

He'd go to Europe as Balinese. Yohji Kudoh wasn't prepared to face the world.

* * *

Ken could hear Aya's heartbeat, arms wrapped around his waist in a final embrace before the plane's departure. Pretty soon Ken would be gone and there would only be minimal contact between them and Ken couldn't help but allow the little voice inside him room to insist that it wasn't enough, that letters and short phone calls would never be enough. However, both of them had decided that this would be for the best. If it was between their relationship and Yohji's sanity… The case was just the same as it had been with Omi. The rest of Weiß, even now crumbling and deceased, came before personal matters.

"_He wants to go to Europe," Ken explained, Aya's room acting as a barrier to the prying ears of the world. "In his shape… going so far, he'd just as soon commit suicide." _

_Aya shook his head, crimson locks falling into his thoughtful violet gaze, "Or just not taking the steps to save himself." He looked up, catching Ken's eye with a hitch in his breath. Admittance was hard for Aya, Ken knew this far too well. He'd already given up his sister to protect her (despite the fact that he'd not yet disappeared) and to ask him to give up the only other kind of relationship he had was very near unforgivable. Even though Ken hadn't opened his mouth in the direction of asking to leave, Aya knew full well what had to be done. "Go with him." He pushed lightly, not in the same disconnected coolness that would have accompanied the comment only months before. _

_Ken had looked at him for a long time, weighing out the other solutions and immediately ruling each one out, those aching, dutiful lavender eyes saying to him that there was no other solution. The brunette had reached out for his leader's hand and wrapped their fingers together, resting his chin on top of crimson locks and nodded. _

_There was no other way._

Even now, Ken refused to believe that they had made the decision so easily. Despite all the hardships Ken had gone through to let Aya know of his feelings, he was now leaving his lover—his long time best friend, without knowing when or if he'd return.

A whisper brushed against his ear, hair shifted away from the air as it tickled against his skin. "I'll wait for you," Aya murmured, the words filled with all the warmth he could muster from his cool eccentricity. Ken nodded against the fabric of the elder man's jacket and begrudgingly pulled away. He could feel the ache rise in his chest as Aya waved goodbye, staring dumbly and walking on the terminal, as his last moments at home truly faded from him.

As he sat down next to Yohji on the plane, Ken could feel the cold reality sink in. _This was what Yohji felt like,_ Ken thought to himself as he stared out the window, fighting off the tears welling into his eyes like molten emotion, _This is what it was like when Omi left…_

After that, all there was to look forward to was the long plane ride to Europe and the sleepless nights drifting towards whatever future held.

* * *

They allowed Schuldich to mourn in his room for a few days, not even bothering to offer him food, knowing it would be refused and there would be a violent rebuke following. The German, in his depression, kept his mental walls down, uncaring of those listening. He was no longer afraid to let his companions know his thoughts and feelings. It didn't matter anymore, not after Nagi was dead. They buried him the next day in the Tokyo cemetery, buying only the best headstone to mark the place of their past member. Each one regretted their treatment of him, knowing only now of how fond of him they'd truly been, even Farfarello.

Since then Schuldich hadn't wilfully eaten, slept, or spoken and now stared blankly out the window, ignoring the jerking of his gut and the roaring headache. The stars mirrored everything so perfectly, each swirl of colour being just as Nagi's eyes had been, imitating them as a reflection would have. The German stared out at them, allowing the tears to roll freely down his face. If only he'd allowed Nagi to know how he felt since the beginning, maybe none of this would have happened and they could all be living immortally together, creating pain for those treacherous outsiders who had done so much to hurt and separate them from the rest of society. He could imagine Nagi looking up at him with pleading eyes, asking for another kiss or to be pet as Schuldich had so often done. Perhaps the boy had seen it as a mark of possession. Schuldich ran a hand through his tangled hair and allowed his hatred to slip away, only feeling remorse for his mistakes.

_It wasn't Omi who did this_. He thought to himself quietly, knowing full well that the others would be asleep. _It was me. Nagi would still be here if it weren't for me_. He chuckled wearily, vision blurring. Everything had become so surreal. The bed remained cold from lack of use and there was no one clacking at the keyboard in the middle of the night. Schuldich wiped the tears from his eyes, not feeling himself tilting back until he was passed out on the ground, the tiny jade Buddha gripped in his hand.

So expected. Every piece of the puzzle had come to make sense. Schwarz had all come to terms with the outcome, except Schuldich. Of course, this had already been foreseen-- not by some completely inhuman force, nor by a power left unseen and untouched by the ordinary human eye than by the complete absorption of the agony remaining in the German's once cold demeanour-- a final thawing of his emotions and in his stance, even in the way he took in his breath as he stared, placid, out the window into the night. It was too bad that the cost had to be so great that it could have, in fact, broken the strong, unyielding spirit that had been Schuldich. Crawford took his place up from the open doorway, drifting forward in a certain mechanical melancholy, making him appear to be nothing more than a marionette being drug forth subconsciously to the huddled, limp form and lifting it into his arms.

Veiled brown eyes hovered sorrowfully on the smooth, finally peaceful face, not bothering to note the sharpness of the features or the cat-like grace that veiled the German like a thin mist over every curve and point of his bone structure. "So all of this was in vain," the bass murmured, an ache forming in his heart when he heard his own notes return to him from the confines of the stark-white walls. "We were never meant to become one with God." Crawford padded as softly as he could to the bed and placed the German down, moving to pull the covers over the slumbering man. "Then why is it that we were given these powers? To prove how truly minuscule we are, that we can't even save the life of one boy?" Callused fingers brushed away the fiery locks of hair straying on the pale brow. "I suppose that means that we're the martyrs. We are the fools of humanity. Perhaps we should do what we were urged to so long ago. Schuldich," Crawford addressed the sleeping man, pressing his own hand against the fist in which resided the small figurine, "I think it's time for us to finally disappear."

* * *

A blanket had been pulled over him sometime between the time he'd dozed off to the next morning. The rest had proven to be one of the many things he'd needed, giving him just enough edge to rekindle his biting cynicism. Startling jade eyes turned back out to the world just outside the apartment and he sneered from the bed. It was another melancholy day to his monotonous life. Not for the first time since the ritual, Schuldich was glad that Schwarz had failed. If there were only going to be haunting days like this one to plague him, the telepath didn't want to have to wake each morning for as long as time continued.

Who's idea had it been to begin the ritual? The German's mind wandered off, forgetting that he'd even asked the question. After his sleep, as was usual for Schuldich, his mind had been far more keen to run over the events of his past. The jealousy towards Omi still remained, though hardly as severe from lack of contact. He was no longer the Angel they had all known from Weiß, in fact rumour had it that the boy had taken up the commanding position in Kritiker. Schuldich shook his head. It was pointless to think that it would matter much anymore. Sure, Schwarz was still for hire to whomever could afford the services, but Weiß had dissolved, it seemed and they'd never run into _Persia_ in the field. A sardonic grin crossed Schulduch's face for only an instant. Kritiker wouldn't dare sacrifice another Persia. They'd been disorganised, weak and altogether useless since Suichi's death, each faction breaking off and following orders from biased leaders just like Weiß had.

Kritiker needed organisation, and from the looks of the dearly departed Omi's journal, Kritiker would get exactly what it was looking for in Mamoru Takatori.

Schuldich had only been given the chance to sneak into Mamoru's mind once since the ritual and, having become a depressive recluse, the German had passed up the chance and had never regretted it since. It had never been right to pry while grieving, not that Schulduch had any want to do so. He'd been too cold, still aching from Nagi's death.

_Rain pressed in on the shoulders of his double-breasted jacket with the bitter chill of the long-passed snows. All there had been through the harsh winter had been wind and ice. Schuldich almost welcomed the pain of stinging droplets, allowing them to numb his senses and drown out the constant babble of the people wandering by, eyeing the private funeral with one weeping eye while the other remained passive and negligent to the possible joys of their own lives. Schuldich had already lost his apathy, crying openly with both swollen jade orbs. _

_Crawford had set up a tarp above the coffin so that they could have their final viewing in peace, sheltered from the pounding rain, but Schuldich had much preferred to remain as he was: cold, bitter and grieving with loud inward sobs. His shields had dropped shamelessly, uncaring as to who heard his pleas. The world had done this to him, so what right did the world have to hide from the pain it caused. _

_Slowly, he'd eased forward, peering through the saline tears into the coffin where, pale-faced and restful, Nagi lay dead. Schuldich reached out to stroke the marble cheek, but a single drop of water fell from his fingertips and the German pulled away, having marred the unmoving statue of his unrequited love. Schuldich withdrew into himself at this. It was just another time that he would have flawed the cool façade, just another way to ruin the thing secretly most precious to him. _

_Outside, away from his own agony, he felt a glimmer of guilt, of agony and an unblemished sadness. Only one person grieved with them, both eyes weeping rather than only the single tear of pity. Schuldich turned slowly to the gate of the graveyard, only to catch sight of a slim figure clad in heavy jackets and winter gear. Above the tan scarf, cerulean eyes shimmered, full of their own tears and for just a moment, Schuldich felt like the connection between them had linked once more, the similar grief paralleling them to one another, despite their cruel hatred, and the German almost moved to invite him in. _

_Just when the thought crossed his mind, the figure shook its head and turned with mourning listlessness to exit the gates once more. The visitor's emotions tickled at his mind, inviting him to enter, but Schuldich threw up his walls. He didn't want to know, didn't want to ruin the serene agreement that the two had come to. _

_For Nagi's sake, neither would go out of their way to harm the other. _

It was still a shock to think about. Nagi, who had silently suffered for so long, no longer haunted the apartment with his celestial eyes. Now the walls remained expressionless and cold against Schuldich's back, not the faintest glimmer of blue in them any longer. At times, the German felt as though if he just woke up in the middle of the night, he would surprise the walls and find them showing the ocean of indigo. He simply couldn't shake the feeling that Nagi wasn't gone, that somehow he'd find his way back…

A thought struck him and Schuldich closed his eyes. It wasn't that he needed to focus, but erasing the visual distractions would certainly aid in keeping his doubts away. The German sent out a single spiralling tendril of thought into the miserably grey morning. He passed over buildings with the security lights still lit from the night before, houses and children on their way to school and businessmen sipping on the coffee from familiar Fujimiya cups.

He wandered through the city, listening to the buzz of thoughts and complaints, until he slowed down near the park where there remained a blank slate of thought, despite the obvious consciousness of the person. The visual figure seemed to have almost been erased, made so mundane that it couldn't have been picked out from the cement and the trees. Schuldich merely listened for a while to the hum of a memorable shield, no matter how low profile it had been kept. Then, regrettably, the German pulled away, the pressure of one of his companion's thoughts distracting the picture.

Returning to himself, Schuldich sat back against the wall, his eyes less sorrowful than before, though just as distant. The door opened behind him, admitting the American, who had shed his jacket and tie with the expectation of a long conversation. Crawford sighed and stood just next to his companion. "You finally looked," he stated, not needing to question the plain message of his Vision.

Schuldich closed his eyes slowly, thinking of a response that would quench his need for information. "He didn't come back," he stated instead. "He's alive… but he doesn't want to be found."

The dark-haired man nodded and removed his glasses. "The time will come that he'll be strong enough to return," he assured the German. "But, don't think that he'll be the same person."

Nodding, Schuldich sighed. "I won't look for him again." He flipped the jade Buddha between his fingers, having forgotten that he'd taken it off of the night stand in the room Omi had been staying, having moved it to Nagi's room where he now sat, placidly taking account of the events of the past month.

Crawford merely nodded in reply. "I know…"

* * *

There had been a phone call on his machine when he'd gone into work that day, but there had been no message save the slight breathing on the other end. Mamoru had been confused when he'd listened to the silent recording and when his cerulean eyes trailed down the desk to where a piece of paper had written on the lined surface the name of the ocean-side park just near Suichi's grave, the man had furrowed his brows in response. Who was trying to get a hold of him?

For that matter, who, besides his secretary had access to his private line? Mamoru unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and lower face and placed the expanse of fabric over his desk chair. The weather had been getting warmer, but he couldn't stand the thought of facing the cold again, no matter how strong or weak it seemed. So, peeling off the layers of clothing he'd donned for his walk to work, Mamoru puzzled over the message.

Finally he sighed and shook his head. Whoever it was really seemed to want to speak to him, as they not only called, but had left a message in his locked, sky-high office building, written by hands that most certainly weren't his secretary's. Mamoru slid easily into the leather chair, tapping a pen on the corner of his desk. He bit his lip. Who could have broken in and why on earth didn't they just leave a message? Vivid blue eyes wandered the room, verifying that nothing had changed, not even the empty fish tank in the corner of the office that he simply hadn't gotten around to filling.

He sighed, looking down to his hand where the pen remained lightly gripped between his thumb and second finger. Brows furrowed slightly as he saw the type on the pen's body. This wasn't his pen…

Dropping it suddenly, Mamoru pushed up out of his chair and began gathering his layers all over again. In a panicked rush, he yelled to his secretary on the way out that he wouldn't be in again until after lunch and hurried down the stairs, still pulling on his jacket, scarf loose around his shoulders.

The pen on the table had been left, text facing upwards with the words "Osaka Bay Ritual Grounds" in slanted blue letters.

* * *

Mamoru hurried into the park, adrenaline coursing through his veins at the thought of the impossible chance that his guilt had been for nothing. He dashed into the wooded area, slowing only to look around him with worried blue eyes.

Nothing. There was nothing there.

This same ground held under his feet, pushing against him as it always had. The trees rustled in the wind that brushed against his face, picking up the traces of sweat left from his long run from the office and leaving an icy touch against his skin. Mamoru was cold. He was empty. The oncoming spring teased him with the remnants of his memories of the past winter and brought back to him the cinders of the life he'd left behind.

Everything here was just the same. The world hadn't changed to suit him. The snow had melted away like it always had on the rare occasion that it came to Tokyo, uncovering the lifeless ground where he'd spilled his blood praying and pleading that he would be rescued.

No one had come.

If he closed his eyes… Mamoru did so, pulling a fist to his chest as he recalled those warm hands comforting him, steadying him when no one else had come for him. Weiß hadn't come. Crawford had said as much, but back then Omi hadn't expected the calm protection Nagi had provided. As Omi, he reached out his memory to sad, celestial eyes looking up at him from the edge of the bed. '…If I had another choice I would take it.' Mamoru's lips parted slightly as though to accept the kisses that had so soon followed. His own parting gift… the lingering taste of mint teased at his mind; there was no pressure, no feeling of lips. The only answer to his memory was the whining sound of one of the playground swings. 'Weiß will not come…' There was no Weiß and no saviour. Reality had no room for such childish romanticisms.

The world hadn't been a suitable habitat for Omi Tsukiyono, forcing him to live like a leech on the strengths of others while he sat idle, incapable of making his own decisions and living for himself. He'd relied on Persia's strength to survive his father's negligence and, even later, Ran's brash temper to pull him from the brink of insanity when he'd murdered his brother. Omi had always told himself that it was for the mission, but in reality, everything had been for himself. The world wouldn't change to suit a parasite, so Omi Tsukiyono had to be killed, one way or another. Schwarz had failed… that only left one choice.

It would be just like before: no one would come.

Mamoru turned his gaze to the sky and exhaled and the anxiety rushed out of him, leaving him just as cold internally as he'd been the last time he'd visited the lonely playground. He wasn't Omi Tsukiyono any longer. He dropped his hand, releasing with his breath the torment Omi Tsukiyono had left to burden him. The rape, the murder… he'd left it all behind. There was no fault in what happened to Nagi. How he'd died was his own choice to make and while Mamoru still had a hard time coping with the guilt of his saviour's death, he'd learned to just breathe and release the problems of his lifeless past.

To attach one's self, one will inevitably get hurt and Mamoru had faced enough torment for one lifetime.

When slim fingers caught his hand, Mamoru almost didn't register, too caught up in blame and guilt to be so easily pulled back to reality. The fingers pulled at his hand and soon enough, someone's forehead rested between his shoulder blades. Mamoru opened his eyes in shock, hearing that even breathing in all its familiarity. It remained controlled, shallow and, although quick with adrenaline, devoid of pain. Omi smiled, his own internal weeping finally fading only weeks after their last meeting in the twisted sanctuary of Nagi's home. A voice rose slightly above the breeze, "—orry..." it began, choking off the first syllable, seemingly unsure of how to begin. "I'm so sorry. I should have done something to let you know… I don't want them to find me."

Mamoru entwined his fingers in the quiet boy's own, squeezing for comfort. "That doesn't matter," He replied as calmly as possible, despite the joy threatening to pour out of him at any moment in either tears or laughter, he wasn't quite sure. "The fact is that you're alive… Nothing else matters, right? It's over. No Weiß, no Schwarz… You don't have to run anymore." _We don't have to run. _

"I was so tired," the tenor continued, dark sorrow creeping into his voice, "It took so much to stop the bullet and when I woke from up…" He shook his head against Mamoru's shoulder, "I didn't know what to do to let you know."

Slowly turning to face the boy behind him, Mamoru made motion to protest and opened his mouth in response, but was immediately interrupted by slim arms wrapping around his neck in a desperate hug. Nagi began to cry, explaining things that didn't need to be clarified and Mamoru simply listened for long minutes, rubbing circles in the telekenetic's back for comfort. Only when Nagi had slowed his much-deserved sobs to sniffles did Mamoru dare to look down at the boy.

Meeting with celestial eyes now filled with joy and apology, Mamoru realized that he no longer felt the cold.

He'd taken his punishment and only now deserved his happiness.

_Kami was watching his angel. _

_Owari_


End file.
